


White Rain

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal, Blood & Gore, Fisting, Improvised Sex Toys, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Heat, Male Lactation, Masturbation, Mpreg, Mutual Masturbation, Omegaverse, Oral, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: John is an omega and omegas in this 'verse are allowed to sell their Heat for money. However, John just spends his Heat in a government-owned facility with a couple of dildoes and synthesised alpha scent... And Alpha!Sherlock goes along with it, his attraction to John growing every day. </p><p>Until one day where an asshole of their mutual acquaintance (just to rile Sherlock up) talks about what a tight f%$# John is, and how wanton he is in bed. Sherlock wavers between believing that person and trusting John.</p><p> Ultimately, I just want jealous!Sherlock, omega!John and tons of unresolved sexual tension. And a masturbation scene from John's end (or Sherlock’s, I'm not picky) about their flatmate. Preferably during one of John's Heats while he's in the facility. </p><p> Ooh, and a happy ending would be lovely, too. :-) thanks for reading this prompt! </p><p>Foxglovely</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxglovely (daleked)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/gifts).



 

 

John was already feeling the itch. It started that way at least a day before he started feeling repulsed by food. First he’d feel like he was empty and needed to be filled, an uncomfortable feeling that had him fidgeting in chairs and staring longingly at anything even remotely phallic (even the remote control). He’d lick his lips overmuch, apparently, but he wasn’t aware of that part until the Alphas at the Yard started pointing it out and snickering. He took their jibes with good nature, though he knew many Omegas who would be screaming sexual harassment. Frankly, he couldn’t blame them and thought some Omegas were a bit silly for doing so. John knew full well his body was sending out signals, and while he couldn’t control it he wasn’t going to come down on Alphas for responding a bit. It wasn’t like they were humping his leg or trying to talk him out of his clothes.

“New lip gloss, John?” Lestrade smirked.

“Yeah, it’s ‘Go Fuck Yourself’ flavored. Tastes fantastic. You should try some,” John replied easily.

Donovan snorted and Lestrade chuckled, but Sherlock gave them both a baffled look.

“Oh? Is John’s Heat approaching again? Already?”

“How the hell do you not notice your _flatmate_ smelling like sex on legs, but you just figured out that poor sod down there jumped because he was laid off? How _did_ you figure that out?” Anderson queried with an annoyed glare.

“His shirt was torn.”

“His shirt was torn,” Anderson parroted back in a disdainful tone, “And that tells us _what_ exactly?”

Sherlock sighed in frustration, “Am I the only one here who isn’t _blind?”_

“You’re the only one missing an olfactory sense,” Donovan taunted, and gave John another appreciative sniff.

“My nose is perfectly fine, thank you,” Sherlock snarled, “I can _smell_ John, I just prefer not to walk about sniffing him like a dog in Heat.”

“Ah, other way around, Sherlock,” John snickered.

“You _know_ what I mean!”

“The jumper, Sherlock?” Lestrade sighed.

“His shirt was ripped with a horizontal tear directly above his breast pocket. He tore his nametag off when he was _fired_ , not _laid off_. Getting laid off is upsetting, but this man was fired, and was furious about it. Likely you’ll find anti-depressants in his flat as his mouth was dry and his gums chalky despite the bottle of water sitting in his car that was nearly empty. Sometimes they can make suicidal thoughts more intense, but overall I’d blame his being fired as the cause for his long walk off a short building. Have I _simplified_ it enough for you hormone addled chimps?”

“Drinks later?” Lestrade tried, as he did every three months when John started getting wet at the sight and smell of Alphas.

“Sorry, I don’t want to take advantage of you,” John teased back.

“Please do,” Lestrade grinned.

“You’ll be pissed off in a week that you spent so much on me,” John laughed, which was true. The first time John had accepted the man’s offer he’d been furious when John didn’t offer to sell his Heat to him as well. He’d been even more pissed off when he realized how much money he’d spent on John… and how much he’d _offered_ to spend on him, “I’m going into a facility again.”

“You spend your days _surrounded_ by Alphas,” Donovan snapped, stopping her healed foot on the floor, “and you’d rather go into one of those nasty white rooms and fuck yourself with a toy? What _exactly_ is wrong with you? I mean, I can understand not wanting _The Freak_ but Lestrade’s the bloody Silver Fox-”

“-Bloody hell, not that again,” Lestrade laughed.

“-And I’m pretty damn foxy myself!” Donovan finished.

“Yes, yes, you’re both lovely,” John laughed, “But I’m not up for the complications of a relationship with an Alpha and I don’t sell my Heats.”

“What’s so complicated about getting properly knotted?” Donovan demanded.

“Repeatedly,” Anderson added.

“Apparently by half the Yard,” Lestrade quipped.

John laughed and shook his head, then headed out of the building and down the stairs to avoid answering them.

“John!” Lestrade called down, “She’s got a point! Why not?”

“You’ll know why not in a week!” John called back, knowing it was true. Hell, they’d probably be more clear headed the second the air cleared of his pheromones.

Sherlock caught up with him just as he was hailing a cab.

“You shouldn’t be taking a cab alone like this,” Sherlock scolded.

“Oh, bloody hell, don’t you start, too,” John sighed.

“I’m not ‘starting’, I’m stating a fact.”

“Just because Moriarty grabbed me during a pre-Heat cycle…”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Sherlock? Hm?”

Sherlock was silent a moment, “Have you ever slept with someone at the Yard? I know you were considering Lestrade when we first met, but…”

“No. No one.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

John sighed. Sherlock liked to pretend that John’s Heats didn’t bother him, but they always made him a bit nervous and just a bit… clingy. He was inclined to sneakily follow John around, but deny it even if he was caught. John thought it was sweet of him, but he really did want to avoid complicating things. Sherlock, Lestrade, and most of the others who hit on him were his friends. He’d stupidly sold his Heats to friends in Uni and it had ended horribly. They were always hurt that he’d charged them, but if he gave it away then it meant he was ‘cheap’ and every Alpha he knew would line up and demand the same thing, refusing to so much as buy him dinner in between. It wasn’t that John expected to be treated to every meal; just that he didn’t want to be the one paying every time. Friends took it by shouts; Alphas with a sense of entitlement took everything and left John broken and alone.

“Sherlock, if it makes you feel better I haven’t been with an Alpha in years. The army doesn’t allow Omegas to sell their Heats while they’re enlisted and I haven’t even bedded an Alpha casually since I got out.”

“You’ve been with Betas,” Sherlock stated neutrally.

“Yes, I’ve dated Betas, and I’ve even slept with a few, but they were all Beta females.”

“Why?”

“Smaller cocks don’t do it for Omegas. Beta males can’t satisfy me unless they use their fists… and why the hell am I discussing this with you?”

Sherlock only raised an eyebrow at him, which miraculously summoned a cab where all of John’s waving about had failed.

“Bastard,” John muttered before opening the door for his flatmate.

Sherlock gave John his trademark cocky grin and hoped in the cab, sliding over so John didn’t have to walk around.

“Hello gorgeous,” The cab driver said after a few seconds had allowed John’s scent to permeate the vehicle.

“Hello married with three kids, a mistress, and a secret furry fetish,” Sherlock replied.

John burst out laughing at the cabbies horrified glance into the back of the cab and couldn’t get it together until they were back in 221B. Sherlock grinned and preened and babbled about how he’d figured all that out. John shook his head, chuckled, and called him brilliant, which only set him off about another time he’d been ‘brilliant’. Sherlock was chattier when John was in estrus; in fact, that was one side-effect John loved as he thoroughly enjoyed hearing Sherlock’s stories from before they’d met. The man’s unconscious need to impress the fertile Omega in his presence was a secret addiction of John’s, and he looked forward to each quarter and the resurgence of ‘Social Sherlock’.

“We should go out to dinner tonight, I’m feeling hungry for a change,” Sherlock decided.

“Sure,” John replied eagerly. He _did_ let Sherlock treat him, because the man never held it against him and rarely ever paid (let alone ate) outside of John’s cycles.

“Angelo’s?”

“Gods, no, he still thinks we’re dating. I can’t go there while I’m like this and let you buy me dinner!”

“But it’s so _funny_ to see him hop about in the hopes of ensuring I get laid,” Sherlock quipped, and hearing the detective say _that_ just about made John fall down the stairs laughing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next two days were filled with bottles upon bottles of fluids and cup after cup of tea as John’s body prepared itself for three days of Heat. The Alphas around him got increasingly more insistent and John got increasingly firmer about rejecting them. By the end of the second day, when he finally got a message from White Rain stating he had a room booked, Lestrade had gone so far as to stroke his thigh while they’d been sitting in front of his desk looking over a file.

“Do you mind?” John snapped, startled and irritated that he’d gone so far.

“Come off it, John, you need it,” Lestrade grinned, and tried to get his hand around John’s waist.

Sherlock intervened before John could chin him by simply putting out one long leg, placing his foot on Lestrade’s shoulder, and shoving him away. He hadn’t even looked up from his case file.

“Go wank in the gentlemen’s,” Sherlock ordered, and either he was Dom enough to get Lestrade to obey or the DI saw the wisdom, because he stood up and hurried to the toilet.

“Are they getting worse?” John asked.

“I’ve noticed most Alphas don’t like rejection,” Sherlock informed, “I imagine having to face it repeatedly has made them surly.”

John nodded at the logic and excused himself early.

“My room’s open, so I’m going to check in early just in case I’m further along than I feel.”

Sherlock nodded at that good sense and then went back to his case file without a goodbye. John wasn’t surprised, but he did drink in the sight of the detective and his cupid-bow lips and touch-me hair before heading off to White Rain. Just because he didn’t want to complicate things didn’t mean he didn’t need something to toss off to.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 1 of John’s Estrus – Pre-Heat

“You should have seen him,” Gregson breathed, his eyes slightly out of focus as he remembered the scene he claimed to have been a part of, “Taking us both like that. Damn, he was fit, and greedy, too. I love them greedy, don’t you?”

“Quite,” Sherlock replied, though he’d only occasionally paid for an Omega Heat and really didn’t prefer them anything besides gone from his bed the moment it ended.

Lestrade was nodding his head, his pupils dilated; apparently greedy was his thing.

“I mean, he was gagging for it. Really gagging for it… but I suppose you know that already, don’t you?” Gregson stated, nudging Sherlock.

“Pardon?” Sherlock asked. He and Lestrade had walked in on the conversation between Gregson and Gerome and hadn’t heard the subject of their discussion, only the apparent topic.

“John!” Gregson laughed, “We’re talking about John! Come on, he’s not been back to me, and I know I didn’t leave him wanting. He must have gone to you.”

There was a lengthy pause, lengthy enough that Sherlock wondered if it qualified as an ‘awkward pause’, though he felt more shocked than awkward.

“John doesn’t spend his Heats with me. He doesn’t spend them with anyone. He goes to a safe-house facility and has them there with… toys and pheromones and… stuff.”

“Stuff,” Lestrade snickered.

“Yes, stuff! How the bloody hell should I know what Omegas wank with! I can’t be bothered with the hormonal things!”

“Sounds like you’re pretty bothered to me,” Gregson chuckled, “He’s on… what? Day two? He’s going to see his ‘facility’ tomorrow, right?”

“In the evening, yes,” Sherlock muttered.

“Why the hell is he?” Lestrade wondered, his tone frustrated, “We’d any of us take care of it from him. Hell, I’ve offered to pay! Despite the fact we’re mates! I know he could use the money. Why is he paying out to go someplace else?!”

“Haven’t you been listening? He’s not!” Gregson laughed, “He’s just not sleeping with your division. He’s keeping his dick out of where he eats. Can’t say I blame him. I’m almost positive he’s been with half my department. Roger was out same time three months ago, no explanation, no girlfriend or boyfriend, just a receipt for paying for a Heat to show he wasn’t shivving off work.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” Lestrade snorted, “We wouldn’t see him any differently, would we Sherlock?”

“Don’t be thick, of course we would,” Sherlock snorted. Hell, he was already seeing John differently, and he wasn’t the one bedding him!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Present Day

Sherlock had never gone before, but after what he’d been told about John he simply couldn’t resist. White Rain’s entire facility was a sparkling white, meant to make it seem both clean and morally pure; regardless of the fact it was a masturbation facility for Omegas without Alphas that had a rather suggestive name. It also pretended there was nothing in the least bit sleazy about selling viewing windows, chairs, and overpriced bottles of lube to Alphas who likewise didn’t have Omegas to knot. Since Omegas in this facility were there because they either couldn’t or wouldn’t sell their Heats, each Omega was allowed the choice to get their ‘safety assured stay’ discounted if they allowed White Rain to put them in a room with a one-way mirror for Alphas to pay to watch them.

Not only had Sherlock never gone so far as to pay to watch John, he’d never even called to find out if he’d safely checked in. For all he knew John was off with an Alpha getting knotted by a real cock instead of a plastic one covered in synthesized hormones. Sherlock thought that was rather trusting of him, and that really, he was just making sure John was where he planned to be and not being taken advantage of during a vulnerable time of the year.

At least, those were the excuses he used right up until he was shown into a long hallway full of viewing windows, with little grey partitions between them, rows of red plastic chairs for rent, and pin machines full of lube and condoms to catch the mess. He walked down the row, his mouth dry as scene after scene met his eyes.

_Not John. Not John. Not John. Not… dear gods what is he doing to himself? Not John. Not John… Oh, gods, John!_

XXX

John thought the name White Rain was a lark. The first time he’d used the facility he’d shouted ‘White Rain!’ every time he’d climaxed until the Heat stole his mind away. Apparently he’d kept saying it after that fact, because one of the staff had laughingly told him that several viewers had complained that it killed their buzz. John had worried that they wouldn’t give him the discount, but apparently it had become something of a running gag and no one made a fuss. They still shouted it at him when he walked in the door even though he hadn’t (to his knowledge) done it since.

Now he walked into the little room, just big enough for even a tall Omega to stretch out in any direction, and set about lowering the dildo posts to the height he needed. He had one high enough on the wall to fuck himself on from doggystyle, and one on the floor on a cross-shaped track which he moved to directly in front of the wall post. Once he had the stands where he wanted he dipped into his Heat Bag and pulled out two dildos. One was large with a knot, and this he immediately slid onto the post on the wall. The smaller Beta-sized toy went onto the floor post. He removed the other posts from the walls via their safety-clip. If they stayed up he might inadvertently impale himself on one in a confused moment during his Heat, and they weren’t made to be used as dildos themselves.

He was always happy to smell the disinfectant in the room and on the posts; White Rain had cleanliness listed as it’s top draw for Omegas, and they weren’t wrong to market it. John sorted the rest of the room out – wedge pillow here, riding crop there, flogger long enough to strike him with right there- stripped off his clothes, put everything into the Heat Bag, and passed it out to the ‘nurse’ in the hall. He was fairly certain they weren’t _real_ nurses, but they were in candy-striper uniforms and had decent bedside manner so he wasn’t going to complain.

Once that was handled John flopped down on the rubber-mat covered floor and stared up at the muted lights on the ceiling. He _could_ get started early, he was already aroused just from being at the Yard, but he saw no reason to push himself and possibly cause soreness later. Instead he closed his eyes to catch any sleep he could and hummed contentedly while waiting for his Heat to start.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

John was lazily stroking his cock, not gripping it just yet, but enjoying the feel of skin on skin. He’d put some lubricant on already, just in case he got frantic enough to rub himself against the mattress again. If he did, a nurse would come in and lube him up so he didn’t harm himself, but he’d rather spare them- and himself- the humiliation. He could feel the Heat creeping up on him. It always happened slower in a facility since they kept even the air ducts separate from where Alphas were allowed. Only the one-way mirror connected him to where Alphas were congregating, and he knew already that it was shatter resistant. He’d still been conscious once when one had tried to put a chair through the window. They’d made an awful racket but hadn’t been able to so much as crack it. He’d been told afterwards that the Alpha had been sedated and dragged out by security.

When it finally hit, John let out a startled cry. It never failed to catch him off guard. One minute he was just a bit more aroused than he would normally get- irritating but survivable- then suddenly he was in _pain!_ His womb sent a cramp up his spine as it opened inside of his channel, which tented with a strained feeling, and his anus dilated to accept an Alpha cock with absolutely no prep.

John was already babbling and pleading in agony, and now he rolled into position and pushed himself back _hard_ on the positioned rubber cock. The devices in the wall turned on with verbal commands or pressure, but John always forgot the command to turn them on (it was ‘on’) so he just kicked a leg back and hit the wall. The toy began to roll forward, fucking him slowly but surely, and John gave himself a moment to sigh in relief at being filled before the pressure upped a notch and he was thrusting himself back on the toy to take the pace up to where he needed it. His eyes focused on the toy in the floor and John hummed in pleasure as he sucked on it greedily. He loved to have himself full from both ends.

Finally John grabbed the cock stroker he’d brought along to make it feel like he wasn’t doing this on his own. It was already lubricated so he simply slid it up and down his cock and moaned appreciatively. In his mind it was Sherlock fucking him while ordering him to service a Beta male ‘for research’. It was his favorite scenario and he played it out often, especially while in Heat.

_“Come on, John,” Sherlock scolded, “You can do better than that. How am I to study the effects of Omega Estrus on Betas if you can’t get him off?”_

John moaned, his face flushing in humiliation at the implied lack of talent, and he fellated the toy in the floor with more gusto. A kick to the wall sped up the motions of the fucking machine and he was soon gasping out his first orgasm as the knot buried itself inside of him. The machine was programmed to stop thrusting the moment it got far enough inside of someone – otherwise it would tear an Omega apart- so John ground himself back on the knot enthusiastically as the desire to be _full_ was finally realized. He’d abandoned the toy on the floor in his passion. He grabbed the riding crop he’d named ‘Sherly’ and gave himself a sharp crack across his back.

_“John! Focus!” Sherlock snapped, bringing the crop down on John’s back, “Just because I’ve got my knot in you doesn’t mean you can slack off!”_

_“S-sorry, Sherlock, I… fuck! Oh, gods, you’re so big!”_

_“You like this, do you?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“Should I bring you off again?”_

_“Yes! Please yes!”_

_“Then you’d better get sucking, and do it properly this time or I won’t let you come again.”_

_“Oh, gods, no please!” John panted, and latched onto the toy beneath him with renewed vigor._

John recalled Sherlock’s questions they day before as to his sexual habits and his mind went tearing of with it.

_“Who else, John? Who else has been inside you?”_

XXX

John looked like he was in _pain!_ He was panting and moaning and grinding himself back on a toy in the wall while pleading with his none-existent lover for _more_. At least, that’s what Sherlock _thought_ he was doing. A glance down showed he could pay for audio. Sherlock rifled in his pocket and dug out a coin

“No one! I swear!” John’s voice echoed through the now activated headphones (poor quality, they produced far too much static) “Please! Please! There’s been no one but you! I swear! Oh, gods, please let me come! Please!”

Sherlock wasn’t aware of trying to pry the bolts out of the window, but he must have done because surely the facility wouldn’t have drugged him and removed him from the premise without due cause. At the very least it would lessen the chance he’d return with more money.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Except it didn’t stop him from coming back, on the same day even, and this time paying for a full package. John was far into Heat this time, past the point where he could do more than thrust back onto the knot and grind himself to completion. At one point while Sherlock watched in awe (it was around his fifth paid hour in a row) John had become too exhausted to remain on his knees. A nurse (not certified, just in a costume) had to come in and shift the toy down lower so that John could impale himself on it from a lying down position. She even helped him get into position, though Sherlock doubted John was aware.

This led to a rather beautiful sight. John had one leg splayed up, bent and leaning against the wall, and the other lax on the ground. Sherlock had a completely uninhibited view of John slowly sliding on and off the dildo until his instincts demanded he be knotted. Sherlock watched with bated breath as his bollocks tensed and John began to keen for the ‘Alpha’ to knot him. When it didn’t occur naturally he drew himself a bit further off and then shoved his hands down sideways on the floor to press himself onto the knot. He’d let out a cry, and the angle really must not have been pleasurable, but he was knotted finally and he closed his legs- to Sherlock’s utter disappointment- and ground back on the knot until his body stiffened with pleasure before falling still again.

Sherlock had already discovered that they were _not_ going to go in and move John to the position he wanted him in. He was rather annoyed by that. He’d thought to Dom them, but they were all Betas and immune to Dom voices. They would cater to the Omegas, of course, but not the Alphas.

 _This is unhealthy_ , Sherlock reminded himself as he paid for a sixth hour, _John is my flatmate, who specifically has no interest in sex with Alphas. I’m wasting my money to sit here and not even_ wank _while he pleasures himself on a toy! A toy I’m as jealous of as I was when Gregson was spouting off that nonsense… unless Gregson wasn’t spouting off nonsense. Unless he did something to scare John away from Alphas. It would explain so much, including why John lied to me. He’s a proud ex-soldier, he’d never admit to being vulnerable... Like he is now._

Sherlock struggled with that thought until it became persistent and violent. Then he calmly stood up, adjusted his aching erection, and headed out to beat the living shit out of Gregson.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

John left the facility feeling sore, miserable, and utterly unfulfilled. Which was… normal. His sexual needs might have been held off, but they weren’t satisfied. He had no hot seed filling him up. No marks that weren’t self-inflicted. No Alpha to dote on and care for after having been pleasured by him for days on end. He could go home and fuss over Sherlock, but the man was unappreciative at best.

Also, he was absent, and apparently had been for more than a day if the food left out on the table had anything to say about it. Three bowls of cereal and milk? Was he completely helpless without John? Or was this some mad cheese-growing experiment gone bad (or good?) which John was simply too stupid to understand.

John plugged in his phone and checked his messages. There were three. From Lestrade.

_Bit not good._

**I know you’re in the facility now, but Sherlock’s been acting odd. Let me know how he is when you get back. -GL**

**What the hell is going on, John? Sherlock just showed up at the Yard and ATTACKED Gregson without any provocation! Call me the second you get back. -GL**

**Sherlock’s taken off somewhere. We have no idea where. Checked with Mrs. Hudson and she hasn’t seen him. Mycroft posted bail and he took off. I checked White Rain because I thought he might have gone looking for you, but he wasn’t there. You looked like hell. Next time come to one of us, okay? No one is going to think less of you, no matter what Sherlock says. –GL**

John closed his eyes, counted to 10, and decided that if he was still seeing red it was justified. He was, so he flipped open his mobile and let out a full-blown all-caps rage.

**EXACTLY WHAT HAS SHERLOCK BEEN SAYING -JW**

**Welcome back to the land of the living. –GL**

**SHERLOCK. SAYING. NOW. –JW**

**You sure you’re an Omega Sub? –GL**

**FUCK YOU I’M TIRED AND SORE AND EVERYTHING WENT TO PISS WHILE I WAS GETTING FUCKED BY A TOY IN A FUCKING WHITE ROOM THAT SMELLS LIKE FUCKING ANTICEPTIC AND THERE’S GLOBS OF OLD MILK ALL OVER THE COUNTER NEXT TO WHAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE AN EXPERIMENT BUT IS PROBABLY JUST FUCKING IGNORANT ARSE SHERLOCK BEING LAZY –JW**

**Sorry, John, just teasing. I didn’t mean anything by it. Are you okay? You need something? –GL**

**I NEED MY FLATMATE BACK HERE CLEANING UP AFTER HImself, but since that’s not going to happen until Satan is done holding Hell’s first Winter Olympics, I guess I might as well clean up, shower, and pass out. -JW**

**We still don’t know where he is. I take it he didn’t contact you? -GL**

**No. What happened? –JW**

**I’d like to ask you the same. You better come down here. –GL**

**I was in White Rain – as you SAW – so excuse me if I don’t think I had anything to do with whatever Sherlock’s done in my absence. BTW, STOP OFFERING TO MOUNT ME. It’s not chivalrous or sweet or neighborly or whatever the fuck you think it is. It’s fucking creepy. But not nearly as creepy as knowing you were watching me masturbate during my Heat. –JW**

**Look, I’m sorry. I’ve heard stuff about you that’s probably not even true and I should have asked you first. I honestly was at WR to look for Sherlock. Since this is going so poorly anyway, I’m just going to ask you like this instead of in person. Have you ever slept with Gregson? In or outside of Heat? –GL**

**FUCK YOU. –JW**

**Official question, John. I can come there and ask you instead, if you like. –GL**

**Official answer, Greg: FUCK YOU. Come down here and you’ll be eating my fist. Trust me, it’s the only ‘eating’ or ‘fisting’ you’ll ever be involved with where I’m concerned. Tell Gregson the same. –JW**

**Can I take that as a ‘no’? –GL**

**No I never had sex with Gregson! What the fuck do you take me for? I barely know him and you know I don’t sell my Heats! –JW**

**Official question, again.  Is Sherlock your Dom? –GL**

**Is this about him getting arrested? –JW**

**Yes. I’m trying to get the charges reduced. –GL**

**Not your division so you can’t be asking me official questions. I’ll talk to the coppers on the case. Don’t contact me again. –JW**

**John, please. I’m your friend. –GL**

**My friend who listens to rumors, uses his position to bully me into talking about my sex life, and hits on me every few months? I know I smell good, but you’ve beyond crossed the line. Stop contacting me or I’m calling your superior and reporting you for sexual harassment. –JW**

XXX

Sherlock got home from White Rain while John was in the shower, stripped off his disguise, and threw himself down on his bed stark naked. He had refused to masturbate while John was helpless and miserable in the throws of an unsatisfied Heat session. Now that the man was back the thought of him with water running down his body was intoxicating.

_Gods, those compact muscles. That bit of pudge just at his waist, right where I could grab onto and thrust inside of him. I wonder how he bruises? He was barely striking hard at that awkward angle in White Rain. Would he like it hard? What if I left marks on him. Oh, gods, would he let me spell my name out across his back with a crop? Could I manage it? I’ve never done that before. How many strikes would it take? The crop’s popper is approximately…_

Sherlock ran the measurements through his mind as he mentally painted John’s back with his riding crop, counting each strike until his name was complete across his torso in a flowing cursive. He stroked himself as he played their little scene out; one hand massaging his knot while the other stroked along the shaft, tugged the foreskin over the head, and cupped his swollen bollocks. In his mind he finalized his art by showering John in his come. Sherlock produced an average of eight fluid ounces of semen when ejaculation: he’d measured it as an experiment in the past. He was glad he had, because now he could perfectly picture it covering John’s body. Perhaps he’d even roll over and open his mouth, lapping the last few drops off of Sherlock’s pink cockhead.

 _Yes! And then roll over and present that glorious wet hole for me to breed over and over and over_ …

XXX

John showered, which refreshed him enough that he felt a bit bad for freaking out at Lestrade. Likely he was really trying to get Sherlock out of trouble. He also couldn’t be held accountable for a bit of flirting while John’s body was literally asking for it. That only comforted John so much, though, when he remembered the man had seen him _during his Heat._ He felt violated, disgusted, and just a bit alarmed. He couldn’t afford to keep using the facility if he didn’t take the viewing discount, but now he was crossing exhibitionism off of his list of kinks.

**Sorry I freaked out. Tired. –JW**

**You had a right to. I was out of line. I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you once I’ve figured Sherlock out? –GL**

**That could take a lifetime. How about next week when I don’t feel like I’ve just run a marathon? –JW**

**Deal. My shout –GL**

**K –JW**

John was about to flop down on the couch when a thought occurred to him.

**Was Sherlock ever at WR? –JW**

**No comment –GL**

**That only works on press. Was he? –JW**

**Is he your Dom? –GL**

**No. –JW**

**He was there. Apparently twice. The second time for six hours straight. The nurses took note of it because they had to drag him out once, and even though he came back and paid full price for all the added stuff like lube the second time, he never masturbated. They thought it was weird and were about to call the police and have his background checked when he left. Timeline says he headed over to us then and punched out Gregson. He’s trying to press charges. I think he instigated Sherlock somehow. He was spreading rumors about you sleeping with everyone outside of our division. My theory is Sherlock got it in his head it happened against your will. –GL**

**They had to escort him out once? –JW**

**That’s part of my theory. I think he tried to break in the window to see if it was possible for Gregson to have done it. –GL**

**Shit. Someone tried to break in once, but I was conscious then. You think Gregson came back and managed it the second time? –JW**

**Would you have noticed? –GL**

**Yeah. Pretty sure. There’s a level of… well, you saw me. I’m not satisfied when it’s done and over with. So no. It can’t have happened, but if he convinced Sherlock it did he’d go ballistic. Remember the American and Mrs. Hudson? –JW**

**Precisely. –GL**

**I’m getting dressed now. On my way over. –JW**

**Save yourself the trouble. I’ll send a car to pick you up. I want your official statement to the coppers who ARE on the case. –GL**

**K –JW**

John struggled with himself a moment and then texted Sherlock.

**Where are you? Are you okay? –JW**

**I’m fine. –SH**

**I was never with Gregson. Willingly or otherwise. –JW**

**I don’t believe you. –SH**

**What? Why? I think I’d know, Sherlock. –JW**

John waited for a response but none was forthcoming. Now he was working himself up to a full panic. Sherlock was almost _always_ right. So what if…? No. They’d have told him at White Rain. Wouldn’t they?

**Why not, Sherlock? What do you know that I don’t? –JW**

**You are beautiful when you cry. –SH**

That… should have been creepy. Instead it was just a bit touching and more than a little bit erotic.

**Thank you. Are you coming home? –JW**

**Already here. In my room. Lestrade is an arse. I don’t want you alone with him anymore –SH**

**Then you’d better come out because he sent a car for me and it’s here. –JW**

XXX

Sherlock put down his phone and stared down at his aching cock. He’d come twice while John had been showering, his mind wrapped around the idea of that compact body and the hard phallus sliding in and out of him while he moaned and pleaded on the floor.

_This is bad. I can’t focus. I’ll lose him if I push him._

Sherlock dressed in far looser clothing than he usually wore and kept his shirt un-tucked. John noticed. Of course he did. One time when Sherlock _wanted_ him unobservant and he was paying close attention.

“Why were you at White Rain?”

“I was looking after you. I meant to stay the entire time, but I got myself arrested. Of course, Lestrade will have told you that.”

“Yeah. Why did you hit Gregson?”

“He’s a dick.”

“Aside from that astute observation?” John smiled.

_When did that smile become so utterly perfect? Have his lips always been so… oh, gods, stop licking them!_

“He’s a liar and I had to make sure he knew it was unacceptable,” Sherlock explained.

“Right. Well. Let’s see if we can get you off with just an ASBO, eh?”

Down at the station they made their statements and Sherlock spent the entire time trying not to wince. Lestrade was trying to hint to John that he should at least _claim_ that Sherlock was his Dom, because that would give Sherlock more reason to have lashed out. John didn’t catch on at first, and Sherlock felt like a hot poker was pressing against his gut every time the man denied it. However, it was far _worse_ once he caught on.

“Well, I mean, Sherlock’s the _closest_ I have to a Dom. He protects me and I take orders from him all the time. I cook for him, clean for him, look after him… so, yeah. Sherlock’s my Dom.”

“But you haven’t got a contract?”

“No, but not everyone does contracts these days. We don’t do scenes together and we aren’t sexually active so… It’s like he’s my guardian. You know? Like before Omegas had rights they had guardians? Sherlock’s like that,” John laughed then, “He’s brilliant at chasing off suitors, too.”

Sherlock wanted to throw him over the table and sink his teeth into his scent gland _right then and there_. His entire body twitched to do just that and he only barely reined it in. John blinked at him in confusion and Lestrade and Detective Moreston looked worried.

“You okay, Sherlock?” John asked warily.

“Fine,” Sherlock replied, forcing a smile onto his face, “Starved. You?”

“Famished. Are we done here?”

“Yes, thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Det. Moreston stated, shaking both their hands.

When they headed outside John took a deep breath as though he were relieved and than did a double take and stared hard at Sherlock.

“Something wrong?” Sherlock asked.

“I thought… I thought that was Lestrade back there, but it’s you.”

“Lestrade _was_ back there. Are you feeling alright?” Sherlock worried, reaching out to touch his forehead and feel for temperature.

John ducked out of the way: “Sherlock, a word, yeah? In private?”

John hurried into the nearest toilet and Sherlock followed in confusion. When he entered John was checking the stalls and he leaned against the door once Sherlock was fully in the room.

“Look, I can _smell_ you. It’s fine, by the way, it’s all _fine_ , but it’s not going to happen. Put it out of your head. I’m a bachelor and I like it that way.”

_Shit. He can smell my distress and arousal. It must be as transparent as water._

“Apologies, John. Hearing you call me your Dom was… unexpected.”

“I had to, you know that, right? You acted like a nutter and they could seriously lock you up for what you did.”

“I’m aware. Thank you for ‘covering’ for me.”

“Good. We’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Sherlock nodded.

“In that case I think I’ll head out to dinner alone. Frankly I think you need the space.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement and John ducked out of the bathroom. Sherlock watched the door a moment and then turned to give the stranger in the mirror a hard stare.

_Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?  
_


	4. Chapter 4

 

[ **vincentmeoblinn** ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/)

It took a week for Sherlock to get himself back under control again. A week of tiptoeing around John and snarling whenever Gregson was in sight. A week of blushing, spontaneous erections, _hiding_ said spontaneous erections, and masturbating like a teenager. Finally he was able to look John directly in the eyes without his cock leaking all over the inside of his trousers. John noticed the change immediately.

“It’s getting better, yeah? We’re okay?” He worried as he served dinner (risotto, Sherlock’s favorite).

“Quite,” Sherlock replied with a convincing smile.

John smiled back and Sherlock was proud that it didn’t get him instantly hard again. They ate in silence until John decided to ruin everything.

“I’m glad you’re more yourself again. These last couple of weeks have been tough, yeah?”

“Mm, this is lovely, did you change something?”

“Organic. Molly’s on a kick and she’s got me started.”

“Ah.”

“I was a bit afraid to date, tell the truth, but if you’re feeling…”

Sherlock had John pinned to the refrigerator before common sense had a chance to kick him in the bollocks. Luckily John had no such time delay and Sherlock was soon curled up on the floor trying to remember how to breathe.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock! I thought you said you were over this!”

“Lied,” Sherlock wheezed.

“That’s it. I’m going to stay with Harry. You let me know when you remember that I’m your _friend_ and not your piece of ass!”

“John,” Sherlock gasped, “Wait!”

John was stomping up the stairs and Sherlock couldn’t muster up his Dom voice, especially not after he saw the look on his face once he came back _down_ again. The man looked fit to kill; Sherlock would know, he’d seen him shoot people down on more than one occasion. So Sherlock sat on the kitchen floor and tried to look contrite as John stormed off.

XXX

**I’m sorry. –SH**

**I really am sorry. –SH**

**You can’t expect me to be more evolved than I already am. –SH**

**You forgave Lestrade. –SH**

**Come home. –SH**

**Are you safe? At least let me know you got there safely. –SH**

**If you don’t reply I’m coming to get you. –SH**

**I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I’m not mad. Just give me some space. –JW**

**We’re out of milk. –SH**

John studied the long string of text messages and wondered who had stolen Sherlock’s phone, because surely the mad consulting detective with a death wish and no regard for mere mortals wouldn’t have written those. Yet he had. The last one was pure Sherlock, and the genius would have noticed if anyone else had handled his phone. Part of John wanted to hop on the next train back. The other part of him was terrified that ‘out of milk’ now qualified as a reason to cancel his plans, take a ferry back to Holyhead, and another four-five hour set of train rides back to London. Of course, it didn’t help that the messages _before_ the mention of milk had John aching in a way that had little to do with arousal.

 _I’m scared. Gods, I’m scared of him. He’s exactly what I want and exactly what I can’t have, because he’s going to get bored just like all the others. I’ll end up alone and miserable and he won’t even notice. He’ll just shout that there’s a case and head out the door. He might not even do that. He might leave me standing in the middle of the street while he drives off in a cab, having forgot I was there. I need a_ loving _dominant. That’s what my therapist said. Someone I can trust who will take care of me and give me space when I’m feeling smothered._

**I may be addicted to you. –SH**

**Usually this process can only occur after sex with an Omega, but I am most certainly experiencing similar sensations to when I withdrew from cocaine. –SH**

**What sort of sensations? –JW**

**Aches, pains, nausea, nervousness, sweaty palms, a pounding headache, and I have no appetite despite not being distracted by a case. –SH**

**You sound sick. Go to the doctor. Maybe you have the flu. –JW**

**Come back and take care of me. –SH**

John was packing before he registered it and then swore and through his clothes on the floor of Harry’s guest bedroom. Harry peered in at him, looking worried, which was never a good sign; if it was obvious to Harry then people in secluded monasteries in Asia probably knew about it.

“You’re an Omega, what the fuck do you do when Alphas are trying to crawl up your arse?!”

Harry blinked at him blearily, “They usually go for my clunge.”

“Kill me now,” John begged the ceiling, “Go drink some coffee, Harry.”

“M’kay, you want some?”

“Only if you’re serving it Irish!” John called after her.

“We’re in Dublin, how else would I serve it?”

 _Living here is quite possibly bad for her,_ John decided with a sigh, _And I am quite possibly completely screwed… and a bit racist._

John sipped his whiskey and Irish crème (with a dash of coffee) and frowned at his baby sister. An Alpha hadn’t fixed her the way Mummy and Daddy had thought she would. Clara had tried, bless her, she’d tried until she’d found Harry in bed with another Alpha and then the poor soul had tried some more. She’d nearly killed herself trying.

“Why can’t I meet someone like your Clara was?”

“You have her number. Call her.”

“She prefers female Omegas, and that would just be weird,” John snorted, “You two were _married_.”

“The bitch,” Harry decided.

“You have no idea how good you had it. She was kind, loving, supportive, took care of you, good in bed… don’t look at me like that, the walls are thin.”

“Why do you care?” Harry asked.

“Because I’m in love with someone who apparently finds me attractive and he’s no bloody good for me, that’s why.”

“You know what’s no good for you?” Harry asked, and then held up her mug, “This stuff.”

John stared down at his nearly empty cup and had to agree with that.

“Feels good, though,” John sighed.

“Yeah. That’s why I drink. Nothing easier than running away without even having to put one leg in front of the other. I’d rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy!!”

Harry laughed at her joke but John was staring at her with a gaping mouth.

“Do you think I’m running away?” John asked in alarm.

“From what?” Harry asked, downing the rest of her mug and grabbing the bottle on the table.

“From Sherlock.”

“That ponce? Why don’t you just seduce him already? I bet he’d notice you if you jumped on him while you were in Heat. Then he’d _have_ to notice you. That’s how I got Clara. Alphas get attached after a Heat, you know. They want to be taken care of and then they want cubs so they cling to you and try to stick around for another Heat. Clara used to buy me these pretty little charms for my bracelet…” Harry’s eyes filled with tears and she sniffled miserably, “Gods I miss her. Why did I leave her?”

“No Alpha I’ve ever been with has ever gotten attached after a Heat,” John sighed, “They’ve all hit the road fast as you please. One left without breakfast, the nonce.”

“You must be a terrible shag,” Harry decided with a cruel laugh.

John nodded miserably. That made sense at least. Hadn’t Lestrade said he’d looked awful when he’d been in Heat?

**You said I looked like hell, was it just normal Heat or me? Did other Omegas in there look awful? –JW**

**In WR? –GL**

**Yeah. –JW**

**Yeah, they all looked like shite. It’s not natural to spend it on your own. Why do you think most Omegas sell it? Everyone gets what he or she wants that way. –GL**

**I don’t get what I want. I get left alone and depressed. –JW**

**What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself. –GL**

**Neither does Sherlock. –JW**

John went to bed with a headache, had several nightmares, and woke up tired to three text messages on his phone.

**Went to Baker St to see what was up w/ you and Sherlock and found Sherlock cleaning the house. What the fuck is going on? –GL**

**Where are you? I waited around because Sherlock insisted you were coming back but it’s nearly midnight. –GL**

**I cleaned the flat. I threw out the body parts. Come back now? –SH**

That settled it. John threw his things into his bag, bought his tickets with his phone in the cab on the way to the ferry, and tried not to annoy the hell out of his fellow passengers as he fidgeted on his way back to London.

**On my way. –JW**

**Thanks for cleaning. –JW**

**It’s fine that you keep body parts there. –JW**

**Actually, it’s really not, but if you keep them separate from the food I won’t freak out about it. –JW**

**I think I’m addicted to you, too. –JW**

**John, Sherlock passed out. I took him to the ER. –GL**

**Is he okay? I’m on my way home. –JW**

**He’s in topdrop, I think. Who’s he seeing? –GL**

**No one that I know of. –JW**

**Was he with you? He’s asking for you. –GL**

**We aren’t together like that. Did he hurt himself? –JW**

**Not sure. They think he might have ingested something. Knowing that kitchen it could have been accidental. –GL**

**Doctors confirmed it: bad food. He’s got a nasty stomach virus. He’ll be fine but they’ve got him on fluids. –GL**

**I’m almost home. Tell him I’m coming? –JW**

**He’s barely conscious, but I’ll let him know. –GL**

John got to the hospital where he set about reading Sherlock’s chart, fluffing his pillows, swabbing his mouth with a moist sponge on a stick, double and triple checking his IV and fluids, and otherwise making a nuisance of himself. The nurses asked him to leave several times and then finally ordered him to.

Just as he was about to walk out the door Sherlock finally woke up and stared at him blearily.

“John?” Sherlock asked, his eyebrows furrowed as though he couldn’t figure out why John was there.

“Sherlock, thank gods, you gave me a scare! What did you eat?”

“I’ve made a decision.”

“About the bodies in the fridge?” John laughed, settling down in the chair and ignoring the nurse who was still insisting he leave.

“No, about you.”

“Oh, that’s… good,” John replied nervously.

“I don’t want to be addicted to you. I don’t want to like you any more. I’m going to quit you. Cold turkey. Just like the cigarettes and all the stuff before it.”

“Oh. Okay,” John replied, feeling as though hands were wrapped around his throat, “H-how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to stop caring about you and refocus on the Work.”

“That’s a good idea, Sherlock,” John reassured immediately, “I’ll bring your laptop tomorrow morning so you can get started.”

Sherlock smiled, “You’re a good Sub, John.”

“I… Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and John sat there a moment wondering if he should believe what Sherlock had said or if it had been the fever talking. He had his answer the next day when Sherlock completely shut him out and focused on his website for the entire hour John visited.

Over the next several months John pined away for Sherlock and he completely ignored him unless they were on a case together. Sherlock wrote music, ate John’s cooking, went on cases alone occasionally, and topped it off by ignoring him even when they were just sitting at home watching telly at home together. It was as though a thin wall had come up between them. Sherlock was all business, more distant than he’d ever been, and John felt as though he were dying inside. He even went so far as to cry himself to sleep one night when he found out Sherlock had solved a major case for Lestrade… after he saw him on the evening news getting an award.

John watched the calendar and waited and wondered. Harry’s idea was cruel but John was starting to hurt in ways that had him tipping towards subdrop. He wanted to find the nearest bridge and jump off of it: or better yet the roof of St. Barts.

_That will show him, the bastard!_

_Gods, this is beyond out of control. He’s not even my Dom!_

_Except he is. He was. He’s always been. Gods, Sherlock is right, I should avoid anything remotely poetic._

_I seduce him? I seduce him, not. I seduce him? I seduce him, not._


	5. Chapter 5

John was already feeling the itch. It started that way at least a day before he started feeling repulsed by food. First he’d feel like he was empty and needed to be filled, an uncomfortable feeling that had him fidgeting in chairs and staring longingly at anything even remotely phallic (even the remote control). He’d lick his lips overmuch, apparently, but he wasn’t aware of that part until the Alphas at the Yard started pointing it out and snickering. Normally he took their jibes with good nature, but this time was different. This time he had no intention of fighting it.

This time when the urge hit him to fill his body with the nearest Alpha cock he started actively looking for one. Since he was in Scotland Yard he didn’t have far to look. John looked up and set eyes on Lestrade and smiled demurely, slowly dropping his eyelids so he could peer up out from under them coquettishly. Lestrade had been in the middle of talking to Sherlock about a case and he immediately lost his train of thought.

Donovan came in while Lestrade was staring at John with confused desire and Sherlock was scowling at Lestrade.

“That time of the month year again, John?” Sally quipped.

“Apparently, Ma’am,” John purred, and Sally stopped dead in her tracks to give him a once over and smirk.

“Ma’am, huh? You finally change your mind about those facilities?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

There was a general stunned hush and then Sherlock cleared his throat, “I believe you brought me here to look at a _case_ , not a hormonal Omega.”

“Yeah, well, you can see that at home, right?” Lestrade teased back, then suddenly sobered, “ _Are_ you going to see that at home?”

“Are you asking if I have a claim over John?”

“Yes.”

“No, I do not. Take him if you want him, just try to do it in private. Some of us are trying to _work_.”

“Drinks tonight?” Lestrade offered John hesitantly, probably still remembering his rebukes from last time.

“I might still be on food, we could have dinner if you want, Sir,” John suggested demurely.

Lestrade swallowed as though he was the one in need of copious amounts of fluids.

“Yeah. Sure. Dinner.”

“ _Sir_?” Sherlock asked, a look of disgust on his face.

It was the first time he’d actually looked at John in five weeks, four days, and twenty-three hours. John felt himself flush all the way to the roots of his hair and his breath quickened. He had half a mind to jump the man, but instead he shifted and spread his legs a bit.

“If you like, Sir,” John almost whispered.

Sherlock’s entire body twitched towards John and Lestrade growled, but Sherlock reined himself in.

“You’re incorrigible,” Sherlock stated, a look of disgust on his face.

“I’ve got needs, Sir, and it’s my right as an Omega to see them met.”

“How are you planning on getting them met?” Sally dove in eagerly.

“Highest offer spends my Heat with me, Ma’am.”

“ _Gods,_ ” Lestrade panted, then started typing furiously on his phone, “Four hundred.”

Sally had her mobile out as well, “Shit. Two hundred. I can have more by next month, though.”

“Five hundred!” Dimmock called from the hall.

“Sorry, no Betas,” John replied apologetically.

“Shit!” Dimmock snapped.

“Unless the Alpha I end up with is fine with it,” John added with a shrug, causing Dimmock to perk up cheerily.

“Four hundred, plus Dimmock,” Gregson stated, suddenly rushing into the room and out of breath.

“Did someone text you?” Lestrade asked, a look of disgust on his face, “You’re two floors dow… Oi! Did somebody text him?!”

“He won’t have _you_ ,” Sherlock snarled.

“That makes nine hundred,” John smiled cheerfully, “Guess you’re in the lead, Gregson, Sir. I’ve been wanting a better phone, I could buy one with that.”

“ _I’ll_ buy you a new phone!” Sherlock snapped.

“Is that an offer?” John asked, and had the distinct pleasure of watching Sherlock fight himself angrily.

“No!” He snapped, and stormed out of Lestrade’s office.

“He’s not the highest,” Lestrade argued, “I’ll let Dimmock in, too, and we have dinner tonight.”

John nodded, “There’s still two days anyway, Sirs, plenty of time for me to decide.”

_And maybe get laid after dinner tonight._

“I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night,” Gregson snarled, looking at Lestrade but meaning John.

_And maybe get laid after dinner tomorrow night._

“Me or Lestrade?” John teased, and was rewarded by their flustering and posturing.

John spent the day around aroused Alphas offering him ridiculous sums of money and posturing left and right. They weren’t trying to tuck their erections in and pull their shirts over them anymore, they were flaunting them and all but comparing sizes while John smiled shyly from one to the other. He was honestly not acting at this point. He wasn’t used to this much attention from Alphas. In the army there had only been time for quick shags and his Heats had been spent in facilities like White Rain to avoid pregnancy. Eventually someone from higher up came down and tossed John out for distracting the rest of his coppers… but not before slipping his business card into John’s hand with a rather shocking figure written on it. John might have been swayed, but the man was far too old for him. He wasn’t at all certain he’d _survive_ a Heat!

When he headed home that night to get dressed for dinner he found Sherlock sulking in the living room, flopped out in his chair mindlessly plucking his violin.

“Can I make you something before I go out?” John asked, flirting shamelessly as he sank down in the chair across from him and spread his legs invitingly.

“Not hungry.”

“Any other needs I can meet?”

Sherlock’s eyes focused on John and he winced at the look of disgust in them: “Get out.”

John stood up on shaky knees, the urge to kneel for Sherlock and apologize almost a physical ache, and hurried upstairs and into his room. There he brushed tears aside and chose his nicest outfit before hurrying out to answer the door when Lestrade tapped out his trademark knock. Sherlock beat him to it and he found them glaring at each other at the foot of the stairs to his rooms.

“Something wrong, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, his posture all challenge.

“Not a thing, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock replied coldly.

“Then I guess John and I will be going.”

“Have a lovely dinner,” Sherlock replied, his voice venomous.

John shivered in worry, wondering just how worthwhile this dinner was when Sherlock was clearly plotting something. Judging by the twitch in Lestrade’s cheek he was wondering the same, but he still gently guided John down the stairs with a hand on the small of his back. Once in the cab he tugged John closer and he gratefully molded himself into Lestrade’s side, breathing in the Alpha scent that called to his loins.

“Eighty pounds,” The cabby offered.

“You’re undersold by hundreds!” Lestrade laughed at him.

“Hundreds? Damn, how fertile are you?”

“Never been bred. I might not be,” John laughed.

“Oh, you are. I can _smell_ it on you,” Lestrade whispered nuzzling his neck and sending shivers of pleasure down John’s body.

“Your nose is off, I’m on birth control,” John chuckled, but Lestrade wasn’t the least bit deterred.

They were snogging by the time they reached the restaurant and the Beta hostess seated them in a quiet corner with a lascivious wink to Lestrade to show her support. Lestrade continued to molest him throughout the meal while John fed him to show his submissiveness. John had just gotten bold enough to stroke along the hard outline of Lestrade’s cock through his trousers when the man’s stomach made a truly impressively loud sound. Lestrade looked alarmed a moment, and then bolted for the toilet.

Across the room an old man smirked evilly. John slapped him upside the head on the way out the door with the paramedics, not even bothering to look back to see if his wig had been knocked off.


	6. Chapter 6

For two days straight Sherlock cock blocked him at every turn but still refused to so much as show interest. By the end of day two six different Alphas had been hospitalized and John was out of offers.

“Damn you to hell, Sherlock Holmes!” John raged, slamming through the door to their flat.

“I think I like you better submissive,” Sherlock informed the paper he was reading.

“Do you have _any_ idea how long it’s been since I had a cock up my arse?! A _real_ cock? An _Alpha_ cock?”

“Judging by your…”

“SHUT UP! I’m sick and _tired_ of these games you’re playing. You want me but you don’t. You’re keeping me from everyone else, but you don’t even notice when I leave the flat!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, how else would I have followed you?”

“I’m getting bred, Sherlock. I stopped my birth control. I’m going to get bred by an Alpha in a few hours time and there’s _nothing_ you can do to stop it. Do you know why?”

“Because you’re under the ludicrous assumption that I’m going to do it?”

John’s response was to slam the door shut and bolt down the stairs. He yanked the door open and rushed out the door and into the waiting cab.

“John! John! Where are you going?” Sherlock called, bolting out the front door in his dressing gown.

John gave him a merry wave and told the driver not to let Sherlock in. The driver took off, a Beta sadly or John’s troubles might have been over, and John tapped his foot impatiently.

“Are you sure about this?” The Beta asked worriedly. He might be unaffected by John’s heat, but he could still smell it coming on, “It’s a bit dangerous for you to be using public transportation in your state.”

John almost answered him, but then recalled Sherlock had spies _everywhere_ in the city and clipped his mouth shut.

“Sir?” The Beta worried.

“Just drive. I’ll take care of myself, thank you.”

John hopped out at the entrance to the tube, paid the driver who once more tried to stop him, and hurried down the stone stairs. He punched his card and hopped on the train, having timed it to arrive within a minute or so of his arrival. He couldn’t have planned it better. Even if he’d missed this one another was due in five minutes, and hopefully Sherlock wouldn’t have caught him before then.

**John, where are you. –SH**

**John this is DANGEROUS. Come home at once! –Sh**

**John that is an ORDER! –SH**

**Where are you?! –Sh**

**I’ve called Scotland Yard. –SH**

John chuckled at that last bit. Most of them were now afraid of John and the rest were in St. Barts. Rumor had it he was cursed.

**I’ve called Mycroft.–Sh**

_Shit! I didn’t count on that!_

Sure enough, just as leering Alphas were starting to creep up on John where he sat in his seat beginning to soak through his trousers, the train ground to a halt and an order came over the crackling speaker to evacuate due to a petrol leak.

**John. Stay exactly where you are. -M**

John smirked: _Not good enough Mycroft!_

He got off with the rest of them rather than waiting, ducking when uniformed men showed up and attempted to locate him, waving his picture about and informing people he was ‘sick’. He borrowed a horny Alphas hat and let the lovely lady pin him to the nearby tube wall and grind her hard on against him as they snogged. She was just starting to tug his trousers down when someone pulled her off of him. John saw a uniform and bolted.

He was halfway down the tube and back with the main crowd of evacuees when his heat truly hit. John was instantly on the ground on his hands and knees keening in pain. He was painfully hard and his soaking wet jeans were difficult to get off as he rolled about on the ground sobbing in agony. Several hands helped him, tugging his clothes off, palming his cock; he felt hands pry his legs apart and the tip of a cock prod his entrance just before mayhem broke out.

They were fighting over him. Every Alpha in the echoing underground tunnel was snarling, growling, and attempting to kill each other for the right to breed John. He lay whimpering in agony as he attempted to at least get his _hand_ into himself. He spotted a brolly nearby and crawled towards it with the intention of impaling himself with it when the tunnel filled with smoke.

John was still coughing and sputtering when someone grabbed him and shoved a bag over his head.


	7. Chapter 7

“Is he hurt? Did they _touch_ him?!” Sherlock growled.

“Relax, brother, I’m sure your Omega is fine,” Mycroft drawled as John was dumped unceremoniously onto Sherlock’s bed.

John keened and writhed rolling over to present his backside to the two Alphas. A glance over his shoulder showed them both holding pheromone masks over their noses. John keened again and inched backwards to try and catch their attention visually.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Mycroft stated calmly and headed out the door, brolly clicking on the floor with every other step.

“Mycroft! Please! Don’t leave me like this! He’ll lock me up and leave me _empty!_ Take me, please!!”

There was a pause and then Mycroft stepped back into the room. Sherlock was still standing at the foot of the bed with his nose and mouth covered. John took the only opportunity he could see and scrambled off the bed to tackle Mycroft’s trousers. He was harshly slapped away, but it only made him ache more at the show of strength.

“Oh, gods, yes, hurt me!” John begged, stretching out on the floor and arching his back wantonly.

“Sherlock, you _are_ planning on breeding him, aren’t you?” Mycroft enquired as one might about the weather.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It would ruin our friendship,” Sherlock snorted.

“You see! He doesn’t want me. Take me! I’m yours!” John rolled over and presented himself again, keening in desperation.

“Sherlock, your sex life is your own business-“ Mycroft stated calmly.

“-Finally, something we agree on,” Sherlock snorted.

“-But if you insist on leaving him wanting I’ll be taking him with me.”

There was a moment of shocked silence and then, “You wouldn’t.”

Sherlock sounded shocked, but John was too distracted by having discovered a loofah on the floor of Sherlock’s bedroom, one with a long, slightly curved wooden handle, and had snatched it up. He moaned in relief as he pressed it inside his body and then began to pump it in and out of himself fast and hard.

“Oh, gods, Sherlock!” John moaned, writhing on the floor to get a better angle.

Both Alphas were watching him with interest and John tried to make himself look as appealing as possible as he pressed his pseudo-phallus against his prostate and whimpered in need. He was so hard it hurt, but stroking his cock brought no relief.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck! PLEASE! Please I’m begging you! I need to be knotted! Please! Oh, gods, please I need to be filled! This isn’t _enough!_ Please! Oh, gods, I can’t breathe!”

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked once more.

“Get out,” Sherlock growled.

“Your intentions, Sherlock?”

“Get. Out.”

“This is cruel. I won’t leave John in this state. Breed him or I will.”

“This is _none_ of your business!”

“Will _somebody_ please _fuck me!”_ John shouted angrily.

“You made it mine,” Mycroft explained graciously, “When you called me in to collect John from the Tube while he was in _heat_. Clearly you are not meeting his needs. You have until the count of five and then I will remove my mask and the only way you’ll get him from me is by force. Five…”

“John doesn’t want this! He isn’t thinking straight and is in no position to consent!”

“Four…”

“You don’t even fancy him!”

“Three…”

“I’ll buy you a cake.”

“Two…”

John felt rough hands on his body and the loofah handle tugged from his grip and his dripping entrance. He heard the rattle of a belt and reached down to hold his cheeks open for whoever was about to breed him.

“Yeeees!” John cried out, pressing back eagerly as a thick, hot, hard cock buried itself in his aching orifice.

“Oh, gods,” The Alpha gasped, and John felt his hips gripped hard enough to leave bruises.

John let his head droop as the Alpha took up a punishing pace, grunting as he fucked John hard and fast. John moaned and pressed back for more, babbling and begging for the Alpha to knot him.

“I told you to _get out_ ,” Sherlock growled, and footsteps retreated from the flat. Once they had gone his Alpha leaned him forward further and drove his knot deep into John’s body.

John cried out in pleasure and came hard across the floor, his body convulsing in pleasure for shockingly long. John was tumbling down into mindless oblivion as his Heat consumed him. He felt the first flood of hot semen in his own body, heard the grunt of pleasure from the Alpha behind him, and sobbed in harmony at the fulfillment of his needs. He let himself drop into unconsciousness knowing he would be cared for and filled with the cubs his body needed. In three days time he would wake up and return the care for the Alpha who had bred him. If he had sired a child with John, perhaps he would stay with him and sire more and John would never have to feel the cruel cramps of emptiness during his heat again.

XXX

The first thrust into John’s body was unparalleled. How had he ever touched another Omega before? He gasped and pressed himself inside, but he couldn’t knot the Omega with another Alpha in the room threatening his breeding rights. He growled at him to leave and was relieved when he not only did so, but also flicked the lock on the door and shut it behind him.

Secure in his place with the needy creature beneath him, Sherlock eagerly thrust his knot inside and moaned as the gorgeous man climaxed twice in quick succession as he ground his knot into his prostate. Sherlock wasn’t far behind, his body tense with desire that had gone unfulfilled for far too long. He grunted as he filled the body beneath him, but inside he was roaring and screaming out the power he felt at each pulsation. John had stopped his birth control. He could be breeding him _right now_. His body could be swollen with child in a few months time. He could be birthing his cubs right here in this room!

Sherlock moaned at those images and ground his knot harder, noting the lax muscles beneath him and compensating for his lovers unconsciousness. He continued to pleasure him, stroking his Omega prick, pinching his nipples, and adding an occasional slap or bite. He didn’t go too far, since the man couldn’t tap out, but he watched his body’s responses and made sure he was adding to his pleasure rather than detracting from it. When the Omega came again he purred contentedly and let himself come again, releasing a moan of relief this time. His tight bollocks, so large and full, were finally emptying! Just once more and he’d be able to let his body rest.

Sherlock focused on his own needs now, grinding his hips in a circular pattern to massage the knot inside his Omega. It was an added bonus when the lovely blonde came at the same time he did, expounding on his pleasure by stroking his cock and knot with his hot, tight, wet, clenching channel. Sherlock let them roll sideways onto the floor and held the beautiful man tightly to his chest, pressing kisses to his damp hair and licking everywhere he could reach to get rid of the smell of other Alphas.

_Mine! Mine!_

Once Sherlock’s knot had softened enough to allow him to slip free he did so, scrambling in the bedside table for a disposable butt plug, tearing its packaging open, and quickly pressing it inside the Omega before too much of his seed had slipped free. He licked up what had escaped to salvage the nutrients he’d need for later, then carefully lifted his Omega onto their bed and made him comfortable. He checked the windows to make sure no one could enter them, moving a dresser in front of one, and carefully unlocked the bedroom door before slipping out into the hall and then the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen he briefly checked for intruders before hurriedly collecting water and a non-perishable food. He found an old Heat kit for Alphas beneath the kitchen sink which was only just out of date. It would do. He hurried back into the bedroom with his findings and ladled water into his Omegas mouth once he’d secured the bedroom door with the lock and a few pieces of furniture. The obliging man swallowed the water down greedily.

The necessities done, he set about licking every inch of the Omegas body to make sure the blonde smelled only of him. He paid special attention to his hands, face, inside his mouth, and around his hips and arse. He suckled each finger and fucked the cleft around the buttplug with his tongue until he was certain the Omega smelled only of himself.

 _Now you can’t even think of anyone else_ , Sherlock reassured both himself and the Omega.

The beautiful creature began to moan and thrash on the bed, his body twisting into a supplicant position as he instinctively asked to be filled again. Sherlock slipped the buttplug free and buried himself inside without preamble.

Sherlock would breed this delectable man until there was no chance that he wasn’t carrying his cubs. Then he would keep him close until he was assured his seed had taken root and guard him through his pregnancy. He would be demanding and make sure the Sub knew never to leave him. Once he had the gorgeous Omega on his knees before him, wallowing in subspace and knowing it’s addictive high was from Sherlock and Sherlock alone, covered in his marks and whimpering for more, then he would be satisfied in ways not even his orgasms could provide.

_MINE!_


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock fucked the Omega beneath him until all that existed for him in the feral haze of Heat was cock and hole. When finally the mind numbing pheromones eased off Sherlock collapsed into exhausted sleep with no thought to moving again.

XXX

John rolled the heavy weight off of himself and stretched contentedly. He wasn’t used to feeling such utter contentment, and for a moment he simply lay there and indulged in the aching satisfaction. Then his instincts kicked in and subfrenzy nearly made him hyperventilate. He _had to_ please the Alpha who had bred him. He had to!

_I can’t let him leave me. What if I’m pregnant? I can’t do this alone!_

John scrambled out of the bed, his bones and muscles protesting, his head spinning with the sugar drop that came from days of fluid-only intake. There was a method. He’d been taught it in school. What the hell was it?

Juice and protein. He needed juice and protein immediately, or an insulin shot if neither was available. Then he needed to first bathe and then feed his Alpha. John staggered to the mass of food and other provisions, found a protein bar, and choked the disgusting thing down. He staggered to the kitchen, half crawling at points, and downed nearly an entire container of orange juice. His stomach sloshing contentedly, and feeling much relieved, John headed to the bathroom to piss and collected a pan full of hot water and a flannel. He set about giving his sleeping Alpha a sponge bath so he wouldn’t wake up feeling gritty.

_What about the last Alpha you did this for? He skipped out before you could feed him despite how starved he had to have been. Maybe you should do food first._

John struggled a moment, remembering his sister’s words, but his training won out. He would do what he’d been taught and if that didn’t work he’d induce another heat and find another Alpha. Simple. He wouldn’t be alone again. He couldn’t survive the subdrop if he were.

Once Sherlock (he remembered his name now) was clean, John nervously rinsed his own body off, not even waiting for the water to get warm, threw on a dressing gown, and hurried into the kitchen. Half the food in the fridge was bad and he tossed all that while frantically scrubbing at random intervals and trying to find _something_ safe to make. He cooked anything and everything fast that he could think of; eggs, toast, hash browns, pancakes, beans, boiled carrots, and a glass of juice. He whipped up some instant custard and put it in the fridge to set and then raided the cabinets. John started water to boil in a freshly cleaned pot and threw in rice and some spices. He searched again and made instant salad dressing. He tore through the freezer and boiled a bag of frozen vegetable medley.

“John?” Sherlock called weakly from the bedroom.

John swore, tossed as much as would fit onto a tray, shut off the burners, and hurried into the bedroom. He set the tray down beside a disoriented Sherlock and poured some water down his throat before starting to gently feed him food and coax the juice into him.

“Gods, I feel like a train hit me,” Sherlock groaned.

John smiled. A Sub had the benefit of a high pain threshold, even if they weren’t a masochist as John was. Sherlock’s bones and muscles were probably in agony whereas John was merely stiff and sore.

“I can get you something for the pain,” John replied, stroking his curls tenderly. He hadn’t been able to wash Sherlock’s hair properly and it was a bit oily despite the dampening he’d given it, “Or a nice hot bath might help.”

“Bath. Pills. More food.”

John decided that was the order he wanted it in and got up to draw a bath. Since Sherlock didn’t protest and was still there when he returned, he must have chosen correctly. He helped the groaning Alpha into the bath, placed the pills on his tongue, and helped him drink a glass of water, before washing his hair and then feeding him more food. Sherlock closed his eyes, but accepted every bite of food for quite some time before giving his head a shake and simply relaxing into the tub.

John anxiously watched him for several minutes until his eyes crept open and he nodded towards the toilet. John helped him reach it and at his indication left him to tend to himself. He shut the door gingerly on Sherlock, who looked like he was sleeping on the porcelain throne.

John went back to the kitchen to frantically scrub the floor until he was called on again. Sherlock stumbled out under his own steam and collapsed naked in his favorite chair. John washed his hands and then hurried over and dropped to his knees in front of the Alpha. There was a moment of hesitation while he shyly looked up through his eyelashes at the man, wondering if he’d dropped back to sleep, and then Sherlock’s hand rose and rested on his head.

“You’re in a subfrenzy,” Sherlock commented.

“Yes, Sir,” John replied, because it was true and lying about it would do no good.

“Then your decision making faculties are diminished.”

“Possibly, Sir.”

“Call me Sherlock.”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“Do you have any unmet needs?”

John paused to try to remember what that might mean, “I’m hungry, I suppose, Sherlock.”

“Go and feed yourself. You can eat what you already made, I don’t believe I finished it.”

John got the tray out of the bathroom, kneeled at Sherlock’s feet again, and devoured the food with gusto. Sherlock continued to sit there, his long lanky legs stretched out before him, and occasionally he would open one eye as though to see if John were still there. John smiled when his mouth wasn’t full and occasionally stroked Sherlock’s thigh to remind him that he was still available to service him despite the fact that neither of them would be interested in sex for some days.

When he finished eating he asked permission to clean up, thinking he’d be less offensive that way. Sherlock nodded and John scrubbed himself thoroughly, finally removing the buttplug and letting the copious amounts of fluids wash down the drain; if they hadn’t taken root by now, they weren’t going to. He used the toilet again, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and headed for the sitting room with a coil of fear in his belly.

Sherlock was still there, though he’d moved to the couch.

John dropped to his knees beside him and laid his head on the Alphas lap. Sherlock petted him gently.

“I’m not going anywhere. Where would I go? This is my home.”

“Away from me. I repel Alphas.”

“You’ve been doing a damned good job attracting them lately,” Sherlock frowned.

“I don’t want any of them. I only want you.”

“As I’ve already noted: your judgment is compromised. I’m a terrible Alpha. You’ll hate me soon enough. I’ll give you full custody of the children and pay support if you like since you didn’t get a Heat fee from m…”

John scrambled into Sherlock’s lap, cutting his sentence off, and hungrily kissed the dazed man. He ran his hands over his body, kneading sore muscles and eliciting moans of pleasure from the man. When he had massaged every inch of his front from top to bottom he gently stroked Sherlock’s hip to indicate he should turn. Sherlock collapsed face down on the couch. John straddled his hips and dug into sore muscles with the same enthusiasm he’d put into his kisses. Sherlock groaned out his relief and soon fell asleep.

John set about searching for a way to keep the Alpha with him. He raided his closet and found the most provocative outfit he owned, a fishnet shirt and a pair of tight leather jeans. He donned those and left himself barefoot since he owned nothing suitable to go with them and they were inside anyway. He splashed some cologne on, but kept it light since he recalled Sherlock detested strong scents; just something to enhance his natural musk.

Recalling Sherlock, the person, set John about looking for ways to charm him other than physical appearance. Sherlock loved to solve crimes. John didn’t know if it was all right for him to contact another Alpha so he tried Dimmock instead.

**Sherlock would like a case soon. Possibly tomorrow, but sooner if it doesn’t require legwork. –JW**

**Did you spend your Heat with him? Is he up and about already? –JD**

**You know Sherlock. Work, work, work. –JW**

**Why are you asking me? I’m not your usual go-to guy. –JD**

**You’re a Beta. –JW**

**Ah. Jealous, is he? He must not remember I put in a bid to bed you, too. –JD**

**No offense, but he probably doesn’t care. Most Alphas aren’t threatened by Betas. Hence how u survived the voodoo curse that took out everyone else who offered to breed me. –JW**

**His loss. I’m a tiger in bed. ROAR! LOL. I’ll see what I can find. –JD**

**Thanx! –JW**

**You okay? –GL**

John waffled back and forth on responding to Lestrade, who had clearly heard from Dimmock that John and Sherlock had immerged from their den of iniquity. He thought it best not to and left it unanswered. Instead he headed downstairs and, upon finding Sherlock awake, explained what he’d done.

“I didn’t answer him,” John added, showing Sherlock the text.

“Mm, a case would be nice,” Sherlock stated, “My body may be drained, but my mind is driving me spare.”

“I could find you a book? Or turn on the telly? Or we could play Cluedo?”

“You hate Cluedo.”

“I’d do anything for _you_ ,” John insisted.

“Still in a subfrenzy, then,” Sherlock sighed, “Tedious.”

“I’d do anything for you _outside_ of a subfrenzy, Sherlock,” John insisted, “I’ve killed for you. I’d do it again. I’ll _always_ protect you, if you’ll let me.”

Sherlock gave him the most curious look and then motioned John closer. He eagerly scrambled into the Alphas lap and was tugged down to rest his head on his shoulder. John sighed blissfully and nuzzled the man’s neck and shoulder to get his scent on him once more.

“I want to keep you, John,” Sherlock whispered into his hair.

“Yes,” John murmured contentedly, gently rocking his body against the Alpha to get more scent on himself, “Keep me always. I’ll be so good to you. You’ll never want for anything ever again.”

“I want to fill you up with cubs. I’ve never wanted children before. You make me _long_ for them.”

“I’ll give you so many,” John whispered, mouthing the mans neck to put his own scent in place, “I’ll stay pregnant always and fill 221B with the sound of laughter. They’ll be strong and smart like you are and sturdy like me.”

He felt Sherlock’s smile against the top of his head, “I’ll teach them from home rather than send them to some poppycock school and they’ll be solving crimes by the time they’re ten.”

“London crime syndicates won’t know what hit them,” John chuckled at the image of a swarm of curly-haired, narrow eyed, deerstalker wearing, child prodigies scouring the street for clues.

“I’ll beat you until you come from that alone,” Sherlock growled and John shivered in anticipation.

“Yes,” He breathed, lifting his head to press their lips together.

XXX

They kissed slowly, without heat but with a great deal of hunger for other things; things that had no names besides _need_ and _want._ Sherlock held John close until the tired Omega slept again, and gently stroked his hair as he contemplated a future with John as more than a flatmate. That ship had sailed, and Sherlock would be a fool not to embrace what was so willingly offered up to him. He didn’t know if he could keep John from running away from him into the arms of a more affectionate Dom, but he would try. He couldn’t let him go. Not now. Not now that he knew there was more to breeding than slaking a sexual urge.


	9. Chapter 9

For the next week John had no idea where he stood with Sherlock. They were both sexually uninterested, so their relationship remained undefined in that area; especially since Sherlock made no invitation for John to sleep in his bed even after John mentioned needing his room for a nursery if he was up the duff. Otherwise, Sherlock behaved as usual- meaning before he’d started ignoring John- and John slowly started to do the same despite the instincts demanding he woo the Alpha who had mated with him.

It wasn’t until they left the flat for the first time together that John realized Sherlock _was_ acting different. John and Sherlock arrived by cab and Sherlock lifted the crime scene tape for John and then led him into the warehouse with a hand on the small of his back. No one acknowledged John. In fact, no one acknowledged either of them for several minutes as they stared at the putrefied remains of some poor soul.

“We know it’s human because there’s a woman’s finger over there,” Lestrade stated, pointing towards a glint in the corner where a ring was still wrapped around the severed digit.

“Meat grinder,” Sherlock stated.

“Not possible,” Anderson whinged, “This is a foam egg warehouse. There’s virtually _nothing_ sharp here, let alone a _meat grinder_.”

“They make portable ones, you ignoramus. You can see the footsteps there, and there, and they’re heavier there where the body was carried in, and lighter there where the person carried the processor away. If you look closely,” Sherlock knelt down by a protruding femur; “You can see the marks from a butcher saw. Looks like a 22 inch stainless steel blade.”

“You can’t possibly be buying this!” Anderson raged, “Look, if you would just let me do my job, Lestrade, which I haven’t even had a chance to start…”

“Shut it, Anderson! This is high profile!”

“High profile?” John asked, “Who was she?”

Sherlock growled. John’s jaw snapped shut and he looked at him in confusion, but his back was to John and he didn’t turn around. A glance at the men and women around him showed not a soul looking in John’s direction. It was as if he were invisible.

“Who was she, _Sherlock_ ,” John tried.

“Not a clue, you know I don’t do politics. Lestrade, who was she?”

“The ring is identified as Madame Dupointe’s, it’s a distinct Beryl Coronet with a very specific setting. Frankly, we’re hoping you’re going to tell us it’s a fake and a plant, and that this _isn’t_ her body. I’d rather missing persons than a murder on this one. She’s practically royalty.”

Sherlock stood and crossed to the finger, treading carefully around the stinking mass of ground flesh and stripped, discarded bones on the floor. He knelt down by the finger and whipped out his magnifying glass.

“Sorry, Lestrade. It’s real.”

“Damn.”

“Not sure about the finger, though. Hand me some gloves?”

No one moved. John blinked a moment and glanced at Anderson who suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. John walked around the mess, behind Anderson, and tugged some gloves out of the man’s kit. He walked around more mess and placed them in Sherlock’s upheld hand. Sherlock snapped them on and then lifted the finger, tugging the ring off gently and examining both it and the finger.

“Anything?” John asked breathlessly. He loved to see Sherlock work; even if the room did reek horrifically.

“Six things, so far.”

“Six! That’s a good start.”

“Hmm, four…”

“Oh,” John replied worriedly. It was only good when Sherlock counted backwards while smirking. He wasn’t this time.

Sherlock slipped the ring back on the finger and placed it back where he’d found it.

“Anderson,” Sherlock called, “Do you think you can manage it from here?”

“Damn it, Lestrade!” Anderson roared.

“Oh, just scoop her up already!”

Sherlock stood to leave and John hurried to the door intending on beating Sherlock there so the man couldn’t leave him behind… until he heard a throat clear behind him. John froze and looked over his shoulder in time to see Lestrade wince at the ground and Sherlock scowl.

“Ah, sorry?” John asked in confusion, and then he recalled being guided in.

John turned and hurried back to Sherlock’s side. Sherlock placed a hand at his back and they continued forward while John’s face flushed in humiliation. Sherlock was treating him as if they were courting, and while John _was_ happy about it, he was also embarrassed because he hadn’t known! John tried to think up on any signs that might have come his way during the last week, but there wasn’t a single one. Sherlock behaved like Sherlock. John behaved like… subby John, which was embarrassing because it wasn’t his entire personality and he hated being reduced to a quivering mass of whimpering custard-man.

“Do you think Subs are weak?” John asked.

“Gods no, I’ve seen you in heat, remember? Not to mention all that child-birth stuff. Oh, and I’ve been on the receiving end of a caning, have you?”

“Yes, though one does wonder why you were on the receiving end.”

“Unimportant.”

“Oh, I politely disagree, and so does my hard on.”

Sherlock smirked, “My point is that if you’ve received one as well you know how painful they are.”

“Mmm, excruciating,” John replied, shifting in the cab seat so he could adjust his erection.

“Then you’ll see why I don’t think masochists are weak.”

“I was asking about Subs, though. Not all Subs are masochists and not all masochists are Subs.”

“Fair. Do I think Subs are weak… hm… no. I can’t imagine what sort of strength it takes to put up with an asshat Dom like _Anderson_.”

“I swear he’s wearing pheromones,” John snickered, “No way he’s anything but a Beta.”

“That would explain the whining,” Sherlock laughed.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve met a fair few whiny Doms,” John laughed back.

“And I’ve met a fair few disobedient Subs,” Sherlock countered, but the humor was gone.

John winced, “I had no idea what you were pulling back there, Sherlock. You’ve not treated me different since my Heat. For all I know you’re waiting to see if I turn up pregnant, then you’ll just move me out of the flat if I’m not.”

Sherlock didn’t respond and John did everything in his power not to curl up in a ball and will himself dead.

The next day they showed up at the Yard to work the Beryl Coronet case together and Sherlock announced loudly that everyone was allowed to speak to John. John flinched and a few people gave him sympathetic looks. He quietly excused himself, found the nearest toilet, and cried quietly while he reminded himself that Sherlock wasn’t like normal people; he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up in the first place. Just as he was exiting, there was Sherlock sitting on the counter waiting for him to come out.

“I thought this was what you wanted, but I obviously misread you.”

“What do _you_ want, Sherlock?”

“I want things the way they were. The _old_ way they were. Before I noticed you were an Omega.”

John walked up to the sink and splashed some water on his face, “I’m tired, Sherlock. I’m tired, and disgusted with myself, and just plain _lonely._ I want what you can’t give me and that’s all there is to it.”

“So how do we fix this?”

John looked up to find Sherlock studying him in the mirror as well. Their eyes met momentarily. Detective and blogger, and that was what John had been reduced to, wasn’t it? Mindless fan, type B: Your bedroom is just a taxi ride away. Yet here he was, the great Sherlock Holmes, in over his head and expecting John to _fix it_ like he always did when Sherlock blundered with people. Except this time he’d blundered with John. Or had John blundered with him? He wasn’t even sure anymore.

“We don’t.”

“Sorry, what?” Sherlock asked, eyes narrowing, attitude flaring.

“I’m moving out.”

“No. No you’re not. I didn’t give you space so you could _run away_!” Sherlock shouted, but John was done whimpering at his feet.

“I’m not running, Sherlock, I’m moving on. You don’t want me, not really, and I can’t settle for less than that anymore. We’re broken; worse than that, we’re shattered. You can’t just glue us back together and expect us to be okay.”

“I won’t let you!” Sherlock actively shouted at him, turning away from the reflection and facing John head on. John lowered his eyes, his instincts screaming at him to _fix this_ and fix it fast.

“What do you want from me, Sherlock? Because honestly… I’m out of stuff to give.”

“What are you talking about? You haven’t given me anything!”

“No? Not years of friendship? Not undying loyalty? Not my body? Not my heart? I gave it all to you, Sherlock, and you didn’t know what to do with it so you filed it away in your Mind Palace or deleted it and here I am with nothing left. Not even my best friend to lean on when my hearts breaking.”

John was proud of himself for getting all that out in a quiet, controlled tone, but the truth was he felt numb inside. Sherlock didn’t seem to have the instincts he did. They were practically missing. It was like he wasn’t an Alpha at all, but John had three days worth of sex to disprove that theory.

“I didn’t… I never… It wasn’t my intention to harm you,” Sherlock replied, his face confused.

John laughed bitterly, “Look at you. Look at you, Sherlock Holmes. Turn your head and look at yourself in this mirror.”

“What?” Sherlock asked, having done so, “What am I looking at?”

“Yourself. Look at who you are and deduce yourself. What do you see?”

Sherlock’s eyes flew over his own reflection and then his eyes slowly closed and he held them tightly.

“Well?” John asked softly, “Go on. Be as cold and cutting as you always are.”

“Sociopath.”

“Possibly. I believe that more every day. What else?”

“Adult male Alpha, age 36, raised in privileged household with little to no emotional care. Turned to drugs to calm an erratic mind, likely caused by a lethal combination of unusually high intelligence and ADHD. Symptoms of narcissistic personality disorder:

  * Believing that you're better than others
  * Fantasizing about power, success and attractiveness
  * Exaggerating your achievements or talents
  * Expecting constant praise and admiration
  * Believing that you're special and acting accordingly
  * Failing to recognize other people's emotions and feelings
  * Expecting others to go along with your ideas and plans
  * Taking advantage of others
  * Expressing disdain for those you feel are inferior
  * Being jealous of others
  * Believing that others are jealous of you
  * Trouble keeping healthy relationships
  * Setting unrealistic goals
  * Being easily hurt and rejected
  * Having a fragile self-esteem
  * Appearing as tough-minded or unemotional



Repressed sex drive due to repeated failed relationships caused by said personality disorder, who prefers casual fucks rather than long term, messy relationships. Has become unhealthily attached to one… John Watson… and has no idea what to do about it.”

Sherlock said it all softly and quickly, but John caught every word.

“It’s not _unhealthy_ to want an Omega, Sherlock, it’s unhealthy to push me away but still keep me all to yourself. You can’t do that you can’t… expect me to just be happy with your presence.”

“I don’t know what else to give you, that’s what I’ve been trying to say!” Sherlock replied, exasperated.

“ _You_ , Sherlock. I want _you!_ A relationship isn’t a one-way street. You can’t just… do you even know what I’m talking about? Am I making _any_ sense at all?”

“None,” Sherlock sulked, turning his back on the mirror and leaning against the counter.

Lestrade walked in, “You two okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock huffed.

“No,” John sighed, “Lestrade, I need a place to stay, can you take me in?”

“Like hell he will!” Sherlock was off the counter and pushing John against he wall in a heartbeat.

“Red!” John shouted, and shoved him back.

Sherlock blinked at him in confusion, but Lestrade had already tackled him from behind, pulling Sherlock’s arms behind his back and holding them tightly.

“He tapped out, Sherlock. Let him go.”

“No he’s…!”

“Let. Him. Go,” Lestrade repeated slowly, “John, my keys are in my pocket. The blue ones are for my flat. Take them and go wait there.”

John slipped forward; staying out of Sherlock’s reach though the Alpha seemed stunned to stillness. John had the keys in hand and was walking towards the door when he realized it wasn’t going to work. He walked back, slipped the key back into Lestrade’s pocket, and headed for the door once more.

“Thanks anyway, Greg,” John sighed, “I’ll be at Baker Street if anyone needs me.”

“John! Wait!” Sherlock called back, but the door swung shut on his stumbled sentence and John missed his last words.

XXX

“John! Wait!” Sherlock stammered, his voice faltering miserably, “Wait, _I_ need you!”

Lestrade released him, but Sherlock didn’t go after John. He’d used a safety word: a universal one, because Sherlock _didn’t even know his proper one_. How the hell had that happened? He’d known John for _years_. How did he not know his safeword?

“What are you going to do?” Lestrade asked him.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock sank down onto the floor, “John’s supposed to know. John… John fixes things when I bollocks them up with people, but I…”

“You fucked it up with him. Sherlock, are you _really_ this thick? John _loves_ you. Genuinely loves you. Just bloody _love him back_. I know you do, so _show it_.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yeah, well today’s a good day to bloody figure it out,” Lestrade sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

John went home to have a proper sulk, but Lestrade was close on his heals, worried about subdrop.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Piss off.”

“Why can’t you tell Sherlock that?”

“Because I bloody love the bastard.”

“Well then you better learn how to bloody love him the way he’s _always been_ because he’s not gonna change.”

John blinked up at him, “Why do you think I was avoiding this in the first place?”

“John,” Lestrade sat down heavily beside him on the couch, and then thought better of it and switched to sitting on the opposite side of the coffee table with one leg slung up so he could face John, “You need to…”

“You don’t have to do that,” John interrupted, “He broke our courtship, remember?”

“No, he lost interest in being official, which is _just like bloody Sherlock Holmes_.”

“He said he thought it was what I wanted. Why would he think that?”

“I did too, frankly, you were practically squirming away from him the other day.”

“No I…”

“Yeah, John, you were. You’re giving him mixed signals, you’re giving _everyone_ mixed signals, and Sherlock’s too _Sherlock_ to know what to do with it!”

“You think this is _my_ fault?!” John shouted.

“It _is_ your fault!” Lestrade shouted back, and John winced at the strength in his Dom voice, “You need to give Sherlock some slack and _explain yourself_. Hell, explain yourself to me, because I don’t bloody get it!”

“I just want him to pick a behavior and stick to it,” John replied, eyes lowered at the pressure he was feeling from Lestrade.

“Well he’s not going to, so I suggest you get over yourself.”

John looked up at him in surprise.

“Do you think,” Lestrade asked, “That just because you’re the Omega with the wet hole that he’s got to change to accommodate you? You love him? What do you love about him?”

“His… his mind. His brilliance.”

“And?”

“We had fun together. He makes me laugh.”

“And?”

“Well, he’s bloody gorgeous.”

“ _And_?”

“And he’s… Sherlock,” John stammered.

“He told you he wanted to have cubs with you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but he was just… I dunno, in topfrenzy or something.”

“Topfrenzy,” Lestrade snorted, “Why do you think that?”

“He… he…” John looked down in shame, “That night he didn’t invite me to his bed.”

“Oh? Did you want that invitation _engraved_?”

“What? That’s… Now you’re just being unreasonable!” John snapped irritably, standing up to pace while Lestrade turned to follow him about the room, “We spent heat together and he was talking about us having a _future_. I think sharing a room is a significant part of that!”

“Exactly. You spent heat together and he talked about having a future with you. That _is_ an invitation, John! Bloody hell, sometimes I think you’re as screwed up as he is, you know that?”

John flopped down in his chair and rubbed his face, “You really think he just… he meant me to… bloody hell, I was in _subfrenzy_ I was waiting for him to _order_ me.”

“He’s got your notes from your therapist, John. He’s trying to handle you with kid gloves because you’ve got a long list of complaints about Doms, swore off Alphas, and there was a note about you needing _space._ Which you seemed to be asking for the other day, and then flipped shit when he gave it to you!”

John looked up at Lestrade miserably, “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“A bit, yeah,” Lestrade agreed with an airy laugh.

“Is he furious?”

“Confused and hurt. He loves you too, John, he just doesn’t know how to show it. He figures if you fell in love with his previous behavior he should just keep it up and when you tell him you want sex or something more he’ll provide it. You’re going to have to poke him to get his attention. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why can he talk to you, but not me?” John sighed, putting his head in his hands.

“He can’t,” Sherlock replied.

Johns head flew up in surprise, but Lestrade was gone and Sherlock was sitting in is place with a wig and some face putty in his hands. There was a pile of Lestrade’s clothes at the floor by his feet, padded in places that were needed to bring him to the right body shape. John blinked at them in surprise. Sherlock was sans-jacket, but otherwise normally dressed.

“That was you the whole time?”

“Well, obviously not in the bathroom, but yes.”

“Why?”

“Because _you_ can talk to Lestrade, and you _weren’t_ talking to me.”

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t getting it and I’m sorry,” John slowly sank down in front of Sherlock and hesitantly placed his hand on his knees.

Sherlock’s hand reached out and stroked his cheek, “I’ve never known what to do with you, John. You’ve always led me around as much as I’ve drug you around. Our relationship is just a big mulberry bush.”

John laughed at the analogy, “So round and round like a monkey and a weasel? I suppose most people long for gardens and teddy bears, but I don’t think I’d have it any other way. I do love you, you know.”

“I care for you as well, but I need you to _help me_ ,” Sherlock insisted softly, gripping John’s hair gently and giving him a subtle shake.

“I want to share your bed with you and I want you to court me. I want a collar,” John stated plainly.

“The bed’s yours and has been waiting for you. I _am_ courting you, and have been since you shot that cabbie. The collar I have already.”

“You bought me a collar?” John replied, touched at the forward action before John’s body even showed he was carrying.

Sherlock smirked, “Mummy sent hers. I _told_ Mycroft I was her favorite.”

John laughed and Sherlock stood and headed for his room, returning with a velvet case. Inside was a thin black band of leather, roughly an inch wide, with a large diamond pendant and a shiny, new, plate for Johns’ Alpha Dom information to be engraved.

“Ah, lose the diamond?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” John laughed, trying not to tear up as Sherlock sat back down in front of him and worked the clasp open. He slipped the diamond off and gave it a disgusted look, “I suppose we should save it in case we have a daughter or a highly effeminate son.”

John laughed again and Sherlock placed it down on the table before sliding off the tag as well, “I’ll have to get this engraved. I was going to wait to give it to you once you presented as pregnant, but I think we both know that you’ll be getting it even if that never happens.”

John smiled and nodded and then bowed his head properly as Sherlock slipped the collar around his neck. He felt along John’s throat a moment and located the scent glands used to attract a mate. He placed the collar directly over them and pulled the leather closed, tightening the buckle in place. The scent glands were designed so that even a small amount of pressure on them would stop them from producing the alluring chemical, the intention being that a courting Alpha would keep the Omega close by and press on them whenever another Alpha tried to flirt with their intended. Only someone who had spent a heat with the Omega would still recognize John as Omega by scent, to others he would register as a ‘Mated Omega’, which garnered a bit more respect and virtually no sexual overtures. *

Once in place Sherlock lifted John’s chin, leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Are you mine now, John? My Omega?”

“I’ve always been, I just didn’t bloody _know_ it,” John replied, unable to stop a tear from falling, “Will you keep me as your own?”

“Yes.”

“Then come to bed with me.”

 

*I’ve removed this one from my Perfect Match listing because it’s so utterly different from the other series. Obviously, the collars do something besides declare a Sub as taken. In my other Omegaverse AU’s they functioned more like wedding bands, in this one they function more as collars _and_ wedding bands. There’s no ‘claiming’ by biting, either, as it just didn’t fit in with the other changes I made to there being no ‘Perfect Match’ bonding. While I do so love a good biting scene, I’m afraid this story just won’t have one. I had no other way to justify Omegas selling their heats in what is normally a very jealous and feral society.


	11. Chapter 11

John stared up into Sherlock’s eyes as the man gently pinned him to the bed. The fingers of both their hands were entwined and they were completely naked, having undressed each other slowly without breaking eye contact the entire time. John had never felt so bare in his entire life as he did beneath those eyes. Sherlock slowly lowered his head, canted it to one side, and gently brushed his lips over John’s. John didn’t part them- not yet- or lift his head to press back. He lay still and willing, waiting on Sherlock to show him how he wanted him. Evidently docile was it, because the man groaned softly as he parted his lips and gently mouthed John’s thinner lips. John gasped, his lips separating of their own volition, and Sherlock claimed his mouth hungrily, his tongue thrusting in to take what it wanted.

John growled and nipped those deliciously full lips in challenge, and Sherlock responded by growling back, flipping John over, and slapping his bare arse hard several times in a row in the same spot. John keened and pressed back, loving the sharp bursts of pain that traveled up his spine and triggered the endorphin release that he- as a masochist- so desperately craved. Pain blossomed into pleasure as his brain crossed the signals and he writhed and humped the mattress desperately.

“You’ve behaved horribly,” Sherlock growled.

John floundered a moment, wondering if this was Sherlock’s version of ‘You’re a naughty boy’ or if he were honestly being punished. Instead of overanalyzing it he went with his gut reaction.

“If that’s dirty talk, you’re bad at it. If that was meant as a punishment, you’re even _worse_ at it.”

He could feel Sherlock’s smirk against his back as the man trailed kisses down his spine.

“Are you asking for more?”

“Fuck yes!”

“Then you should ask for it properly.”

Sherlock’s hand stroked a circle around John’s reddened backside, soothing the spot he’d struck and making John’s skin tingle. John gasped for air that was suddenly hard to draw in the wake of the surges of pleasure Sherlock’s caress evoked: more pain would mean more pleasure, would mean more sparks during caresses, would mean more overwhelming sensations, would mean more pleasure, would mean wanting more pain would mean…

“Oh gods, hurt me please!”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock groaned beautifully, then pulled a studded paddle out from between the mattress and took it to John’s backside with skill.

John writhed and moaned as each strike sent a hot dart of pleasure shooting from the strike point, through his prostate, and up his twitching cock, to bring copious amounts of pre-come leaking from the tip. John was babbling madly, shouting praises and begging for more. Sherlock reached around and pumped his cock a few times and John screamed out an orgasm as he floundered headfirst into subspace. John floated for a bit, feeling a few more strikes as though they were mini-climaxes radiating through his body. His mind was a smooth, placid lake, and every crack of the paddle a drop of rain rippling through it, caressing synapses and sparking more hormone release. When the strikes stopped and the actual thrusts started John felt it as waves, as though a ship were passing somewhere far out in the middle of the lake. His body was swayed and rocked by it and he gasped and sputtered for air as his face was briefly submerged in too much pleasure to allow for breathing. He felt Sherlock’s release inside him as a smoothly flowing water creature, gliding through his mind like satin across skin and allowing him the joy of knowing he kept it alive and happy.

John slid back into reality slowly, meeting Sherlock’s tearstained eyes with his own wide ones. They’d each only climaxed once, but it was enough. It was utterly satisfying in a sexual sense, especially since orgasm wasn’t what they needed. This was: this soft gentle press of lips and delicate caress of hands on skin and in hair. The soft whisper of John’s name on Sherlock’s lips, and the gasp of Sherlock’s name from John’s scream-raw throat.

Perfection. Satisfaction. Culmination. Obsession.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock watched the play of emotions across John’s face and tried to understand them. Oh, he understood their _motivations_ : things like instinct, pleasure, fear, hope, and affection. However, he couldn’t understand the _way_ John felt them. They almost didn’t seem real, as though John were made of paper and the emotions were written across him in a two-dimensional poem; something to be seen and studied but never felt in the way the original writer intended them to be. He had loved burying himself inside of John, sex was always gratifying in it’s own way, but he needed something _more_ from him. Something that he was certain he could get by tearing him into little shreds, dipping him into a vat of pain and pleasure, and molding him into an entirely new shape; his own papier-mâché John recreated into ‘Sherlock’s John’ instead of just plain, boring, jumper-wearing _John_.

 _Mine_.

Sherlock started by stripping him while keeping his eyes focused entirely on his own.

 _Look at me. Observe me. Deduce me. Understand me. I am more than a body. More than an Alpha. More than a Dominant. I am Sherlock Holmes and I_ will _be your world._

Sherlock pinned John gently, observing his reaction, waiting to see what kind of a Sub he was. Did he want tenderness and caresses, harsh strikes, or a combination of the two? Was John the sort that whimpered and mewed and lay passive beneath you, or the sort that fought wildly as though he hated what was being done to him? The sort that pleaded and begged for each strike or angrily demanded more? Or perhaps the type that brazenly instigated their Dom into a cold fury?

Sherlock gently mouthed John’s lips, asking for kisses in order to test him. He would either be bored, wooed, demanding, or start pushing. John, or course, was unpredictable in all aspects. First he gasped and squirmed beautifully and Sherlock’s mind decided he was a sweet little sissy boi, but then his eyes flashed and he nipped Sherlock’s lip in open challenge and the consulting detective’s mind screamed _bitch!_

Sherlock had flipped John over and started slapping his arse before his mind had actually registered the decision.

_That will show me what he likes!_

It showed him _everything_. John’s soul was laid bare before him as the Omega arched and even jerked back into the strikes. When he instigated verbal play he received taunts and when he caressed the man’s red backside he melted into a pool of keening desire. Sherlock felt his blood like fire in his veins. John _wasn’t_ two-dimensional. John was multi-faceted and shone beneath him like a jewel as Sherlock beat a diamond pattern into his backside with the studded plastic paddle.

John started out hissing in pain, but was soon moaning in pleasure, so Sherlock was at least assured the man was a masochist. How hard of one, he’d have to find out, but he was at the least one that felt pain _as_ pleasure, and that was Sherlock’s favorite kind. None of that whinging that it hurt from John, oh no! The man was shouting praises and begging for more! Sherlock was certain he’d bruise by morning, but it was worth it when only a few quick strokes on the Omega’s cock had him coming on the spanking alone! Nothing in his arse whatsoever, no knot to rub his prostate the right way and milking him dry, just the sting of the paddle and the glide of his Alphas hand.

If the sudden drop into silence and glazed look hadn’t given it away, the contented sigh and lax body would have. John was in subspace and clearly languishing in it. Sherlock tried lifting an arm and dropping it, but he was completely limp. Annoyed, he lifted John’s hips and noted with a smile that he would remain in that position, so at least he wasn’t completely boneless. Encouraged, Sherlock gave John a few more sharp slaps just to get himself going again, loving the ripple across his fleshy backside and the feeling of _power_ that he got every time the bones in his arm were jarred by the impact of the paddle on John’s body.

Then he slipped his fingers inside John’s dripping wet hole and moaned at the glorious heat. He thrust two in at first, and ran his tongue along the outside of the rim to sample the musky lube, before pressing a third inside the beautiful man. A moment later he smiled as he recalled he hadn’t fisted anyone in ages. A few more thrusts and his fourth finger was in, and then he tucked his thumb and watched as his hand and then his wrist slowly sank into John’s twitching body. The man moaned softly, but made no other indication that he was aware of what Sherlock was doing. He was _deep_ into subspace! Sherlock carefully pumped his hands and then manipulated his hand into a fist. A press to John’s prostate had the man gasping and Sherlock quickly and carefully removed his hand. He needed to be inside John _now_!

“Gods, I’m too close,” Sherlock moaned as he slid into John’s suckling body.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled up and he knotted him in one go, knowing he could take it after having had Sherlock’s fist. He knew his mouth was slack, but he didn’t care. He was reveling in the feel of his knot being squeezed by the muscles along John’s body. A few more gyrations of his hips and he knew he wouldn’t last long enough to bring John off again; he was too unbearably aroused. He let himself go, hoping John would forgive him, and came with a groan of relief as the weight of the past few months simply fell off his shoulders. He could have continued, could have pushed himself to come again and continued to pleasure his Omega, but he felt so utterly still and relaxed, and felt the same from John.

Sherlock gently tugged John over and lay spooning him, breathing in his scent and caressing every inch of available skin. He could feel the heat coming off of his abused arse in waves and caressed it gently as they lay together. Eventually sleep claimed him and he dreamt of John with his belly round and his nipples hard and firm.


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

“John, hand me my phone,” Sherlock insisted loudly.

John groaned, rolled over, blindly searched the nightstand, came up empty, rolled onto his hands and knees on the floor with a thump, found the phone in Sherlock’s pants pocket, and pressed it into his palm as he scrambled bleary-eyed back into bed.

“Thank you,” Sherlock rolled over, hugging the phone tightly to his chest as if it were a teddy bear.

 

John blinked and was instantly fully awake: “Did you just _thank_ me? And are you cuddling your _phone_?”

“You were soooo beautiful, John,” Sherlock sighed, “Absolutely radiant.”

“I… thanks. Are you feeling all right?”

“Like satin. That’s what you feel like inside. Wet. Hot. Satin.”

“That’s a bit hot, thanks. Am I presenting or something? Can you smell pregnancy hormones?”

“I can’t _wait_ to see you big and fat with cubs. I’m going to rub your feet when they hurt.”

“That’s sweet of you… it’s also bloody unlikely.”

“I have a secret toe sucking fetish… ssssshhhh, don’t tell Lestrade. He’s got a thing about toes. Thinks they’re disgusting.”

John was doing everything in his power not to fall off the bed laughing. He’d just leaned over and taken a close look at Sherlock’s face and realized… he was talking in his sleep!

“Does he really?” John chortled.

“He once asked a Sub to get hers surgically removed. She was a dancer and they were all bent and disgusting- even I thought so. She refused so he dumped her.”

“That was a bit rotten of him.”

“She was cheating on him anyway.”

“He still dumped her because of her toes, that’s a pretty rubbish thing to do.”

“She smelled, too.”

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference,” John laughed.

“I thought so.”

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love me?”

“You are more important than air, water, and cases… in that order.”

John was speechless. He curled up beside Sherlock and nuzzled into his back, but found he couldn’t sleep. Instead he simply held Sherlock and listened to the man babble on for a good portion of the night, mostly about random things that made little sense to John- like his latest chemistry experiments. When morning came he slipped out of bed before Sherlock woke up to make him his favorite breakfast.

XXX

Sherlock slipped into his favorite chair and scooped up the paper John had brought up for him. A split second later John placed a cup of tea at his elbow and he flashed him a smile before sipping it as he perused he paper for another case. The Beryl Coronet had been solved already, though sadly not by Sherlock. The lady herself had turned up after having attempted to fake her death as a publicity stunt. When the Met had kept it secret she’d just headed over and demanded her jewelry back.

John was humming something in the kitchen, and to Sherlock’s amusement he started singing as well.

 _You tell me that you want me,_  
You tell me that you need me,  
You tell me that you love me,  
And I know that I’m right,  
Cuz I hear it in the night!

 _I hear the secrets that you keep,_  
When you’re talking in your sleep.  
I hear the secrets that you keep,  
When you’re talking in your sleep.

“John, what _are_ you singing?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, breakfast is served my sexy Alpha!”

Sherlock laughed as the man headed in with a tray full of food. He sat it down on a folding table between them and Sherlock began to pick at it while John ate with gusto. Sherlock noted all his favorites were on the tray and determined to do something nice for John since he was clearly throwing himself in with both feet. He didn’t need to search for long as John suddenly piped up with a request.

“I’d like to get myself pampered a bit, but it would require I be touched by someone else. Would you allow me to get a pedicure?”

“A pedicure?” Sherlock’s mouth went dry and he had to quickly gulp down some tea or risk choking on his toast.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get one. I think feet can be very sexy under the right conditions, and now we’re in a proper relationship I want to look good for you. Especially since I’m barefoot so often.”

“That’s… very… considerate of you.”

“So it’s allowed?”

“On one condition.”

“That would be?”

“I go with you and stay for your entire appointment. I want to make sure they don’t touch you inappropriately.”

“I’m sure that will be fine. Shall I call and make an appointment now?”

Sherlock nodded, not trusting his voice, and John excused himself to look up the number on his laptop. Sherlock adjusted himself while John was distracted, but he thought he saw the man’s lips quirk up, so he might not have been as subtle as he’d liked.

“Fantastic,” John said a moment later, “I booked it online. We can leave in an hour. Is that alright?”

“Mm,” Sherlock replied.

“Well, better eat up then, yeah?” John urged, and Sherlock dove into his food. He’d need his strength for later.

 

[The Romantics: Talking In Your Sleep](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmGMzyajA2U)  LOL, Look at all that HAIR!! The one guy in this video reminds me of Cory from Boy Meets World (dating myself, here).


	14. Chapter 14

 

Sherlock ran his hands over John’s swollen belly, smiling to himself as he felt the baby inside kick his hand. John groaned but didn’t otherwise respond. Pregnant John was whinny and cuddly and Sherlock had learned to adore him. After all, they were on baby number six.

Gideon and Faviana were their oldest, a set of twins; Faviana was an Alpha female and could easily pass for Gideon even though they weren’t technically fraternal. It was the source of endless pranks that the two switched places regularly and even Sherlock couldn’t tell them apart at times. Olivia was next, sweet and charming like her Mummy with a keen whit and kind heart. Abby Rose had taken after Sherlock in all but looks and everyone commented that she was the perfect combination of the two lovers. Prudence was their youngest princess, and she was already showing signs of extremely high intelligence; at ten months she had a few sentences under her belt and was starting to trace letters with her fingers when presented them.

Then there was Hope, still wiggling about in her Mummy’s belly. They had planned on stopping at five when John had developed high blood pressure while carrying Prudence; the doctors pointed out his age was well past the safe carrying zone for male Omegas. Their decision had been made for them, however, when John was abducted during a case only a few weeks after Prudence had been born. John had been so distressed at being separated from his children and Alpha that he had gone into a Mock Heat as his body fought to preserve his life by making him more attractive to his Alpha abductors. Had Sherlock not arrived in time, Hope would have had a different daddy. They had almost aborted, but John had been so distraught at the idea that they had decided to take on the high-risk pregnancy instead. Miraculously, John had flourished with very few complications, though he’d had to be on medication for his blood pressure and a special diet. Now their new little darling was due in three days.

Through the monitor Sherlock heard the first little sighs and coos that indicated their rambunctious offspring were awake. The oldest two had the room on the very top floor; the younger three (soon to be four) were situated in Sherlock’s old room. 221B’s sitting room was a combination office and playroom. Sherlock and John had their room in 221C along with their dungeon and Sherlock’s lab. John used the kitchen in 221B to cook. Mrs. Hudson kept the door to her apartment open all day long and the children wandered in and out spoiling their appetites with her biscuits. They called her Mum-Mum and Mrs. Hudson’s eyes still grew wet whenever she heard it.

“Oh goooooods,” John groaned, his instincts waking him on nearly the first coo despite his advanced pregnancy, “Why are they awake? Why?!”

“Because it’s morning, love,” Sherlock smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, “I’ll get them started. You take all the time you need.”

John whimpered miserably but didn’t otherwise protest or thank him, which Sherlock allowed. You had to give pregnant Omegas some leeway; John didn’t even keep house after the eighth month. When Sherlock reached the first floor landing Lestrade was just heading out of Mrs. Hudson’s with a biscuit in his mouth and two in each hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

“You might as well come up. The kids are just awake. I assume it’s a case?”

“Mph.”

“Wait till you swallow… and put those away! They aren’t having sweets for breakfast… again,” Sherlock snapped.

When Sherlock entered the nursery it was to find Gideon and Faviana already starting on a toddler each. He scooped up the last one.

“Promise us this is the last baby?” Gideon groaned.

“Promises,” Sherlock replied with a chuckle, “When they scoop your lovely new sister out they’ll also collect Mummy’s womb. He’s donating it. He won’t even have Heats anymore because the…”

“Sherlock!” John’s voice boomed through the intercom on the monitor, loud enough to make it vibrate across the shelf it was sitting on “Don’t tell them stuff like that! They’re too young!”

“Later,” Sherlock whispered, but Gideon only rolled his eyes. He knew Mummy wouldn’t allow it.

“I heard that!” John growled again, making the twins giggle.

Sherlock had them all dressed and fed by the time John made his slow appearance. He waddled into the room in a long dressing gown, groaning with each step, and settled into his favorite chair. The youngest two immediately toddled over to snuggle up with Mummy, who had no lap room left but managed to snuggle them anyway. They giggled and pressed their heads to John’s belly to feel and hear the baby. Abby Rose was calmly explaining to Hope exactly how she would be leaving Mummy’s belly. They had agreed that the kids should be a part of the birth process, though they had to watch from an observation window since Hope was going to be a c-section baby. Since it was a surgery and not a natural birth as the oldest had witnessed, John had been carefully preparing them for what they would see and how Mummy would react to the medicine. They were fascinated and the oldest two had poured through medical texts with the younger ones trying to follow along. The twins now both wanted to be doctors, but Sherlock had some hope in that changing as Faviana had wanted to be a rubbish lorry driver only last week, and Gideon had been planning on being a ballet danseur.

“Uh oh, Mummy pee pee, go potty?” Prudence asked.

“Sherlock,” John called, his voice exasperated.

“Did you really pee yourself?” Sherlock asked in surprise. He was sure he’d heard John use the loo not a few seconds ago.

“No, but my water just broke. I knew my back was hurting, but I hadn’t thought it was enough for labor,” John sighed.

Lestrade, who had thrown himself down on the couch and had been rough housing with Gideon, gave John a horrified look. Sherlock circled around and gave the fluids soiling the chair a curious sniff while tugging the children away from the growing puddle. There was no foul odor, so he wasn’t overly concerned. He dialed the hospital while asking Lestrade to fetch Mrs. Hudson.

“Your pain threshold is so high now it’s ridiculous. Contractions?”

“Yeah, but I thought I was just… H-O-R-N-Y. They certainly aren’t regular. I suppose it’s a good thing we’re going cesarean.”

“That’s just weird,” Lestrade mentioned on his way out the door, “I’m glad I’m dating Alphas now, and I don’t care how weird you lot think it is.”

Sherlock smirked. During the pregnancy with the twins John had employed a popular mental technique that Sherlock had disdained as impossible- but had evidently been soundly wrong. After some training with a mentalist John had tricked his brain into registering his contractions as dry orgasms. Apparently one need not even be a masochist for it to work, as he’d spoken to several other Omegas without the masochistic tendencies and found they described the same sensations. They weren’t entirely without pain, but it made the first part of delivery tolerable. John usually hit a point right before actual delivery where he couldn’t manage it anymore. The kids were left out of the room until he was about to deliver, so the fact he was no longer whimpering in pleasure by the time they came in was a bit of a good thing.

“I’ll call for a couple of cabs,” Sherlock laughed as John flushed and clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a moan.

“Hurry. This is awkward.”

Mrs. Hudson would stay with the kids in the observation area, answering their questions, keeping them occupied, and soothing them if they got upset. They needn’t have worried. When Sherlock proudly emerged with his youngest daughter the kids were staring in amazement at their mother and detailing their favorite parts of the surgery.

“And then they pulled out your breeding bits and-“ Faviana announced.

“ _Breeding_ bits?! Where the… where did you hear that?!” John asked in horror at the reference to the removal of his womb.

“Uncle Greg,” Gideon supplied with a very Sherlock smirk.

“Well, he’s a dead man,” John informed them cheerily, then glanced at Sherlock, “I’m going to throw up again.”

The children scattered with disgusted squeals and Sherlock held a pan for his Omega, who really only dry heaved. The new baby decided to ask for more milk so Sherlock slipped an ice chip into John’s mouth and laid the baby across his belly to let the little one latch on naturally to feed. John hated doing it this way, but Sherlock had insisted that all his kids work for their food. John’s face scrunched up miserably as the baby wailed and squirmed before finally finding a nipple and diving in.

“It’s my last one, Sherlock, can’t I just feed her the way other Mums do?”

“No. They feed better this way.”

“Says the man without lactating nipples!”

“You never had any of the breastfeeding troubles that Sally’s Omega had, did you?”

“No,” John grudgingly admitted.

“There you are then. They’re learning from the door to respect food and that’s important. All of ours ate solids better than Sally’s kids as well,” Sherlock stated proudly.

“Sometimes I think you’re just in competition with Sally,” John muttered, starting to drift off.

“Please, there’s _no_ competition,” Sherlock replied icily, then glanced around at the laughing kids and started hushing them so John could sleep.

Sherlock shooed their little brood out into the hall and Mrs. Hudson’s waiting arms, never taking his eyes off of John and Hope. He returned to gently prod the baby into finding the second teat as John was so far gone from his surgery that he wasn’t even instinctively responding. Once the baby was full and sleeping on John’s torso, Sherlock scooped her up, changed her nappy, wrapped her up in a tight swaddle, and sat back to spend some more time scenting her and bonding.

“Hello Hope,” Sherlock whispered in the darkened hospital room, “I’m going to tell you the same story I told all of my little cubs when they were born. Once upon a time there was a brave soldier who was wounded in battle…”


End file.
